


OOH - Welcome to my World...

by Lymers



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, James Bond References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 73,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymers/pseuds/Lymers
Summary: Tied to a chair, her shirt ripped open exposing a racy red bra, Nicole would be the first to admit the odds of surviving the situation were not in her favor. Not that it would stop her from trying. She welcomed the challenge, pitting herself against an enemy, finding pleasure in outwitting their crazy plans of world domination, or world annihilation, or whatever was in their messed up minds.The question is, will Waverly's arrival help, or hinder?Take On The World
Relationships: Jeremy Chetri & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Xavier Dolls & Nicole Haught
Comments: 122
Kudos: 262





	1. Bondage

The ticking of the clock behind her was beginning to irritate. Not that she would let on, her facial expression remaining one of supreme confidence, bordering on arrogance, belying the fact she had no idea whether she would get out alive from the tiny room in which she now found herself.

An agent in the Secret Intelligence Service, aka MI6, Nicole Haught’s job description was fairly straightforward. Get the bad guy, or girl, and in doing so stop said bad person from doing something the British government would rather they didn’t. Assigned the code name 00H, she was a new breed of officer, tall, good looking, extremely intelligent and deadly. Excelling at everything from an early age, twice winning the annual race against Cambridge University as captain of the Oxford boat, achieving a first in physics, she was both athletic and academic, enjoying the company of those who found her charm irresistible. 

Her sharp mind and wit, plus her distinctive flame-coloured hair, ensured she was noticed, putting her on the radar of those who wanted someone to lead their elite team of female officers. She knew how to handle herself under pressure, knew how to use everything she possessed to complete her missions, she even knew how to stare down the barrel of a gun and not flinch.

That was precisely what she was doing right now. Tied to a chair, her shirt ripped exposing a racy red bra, she would be the first to admit the odds of surviving the situation were not in her favour. Not that that would stop her from trying. Far from it. She relished the challenge, pitting herself against a known enemy, finding pleasure in outwitting their crazy plans of world domination, or world annihilation, or whatever was in their messed up minds. 

Her latest enemy was wanted internationally, a terrorist by any other name, seeking to manipulate money markets by releasing deadly toxins into the water supply of large cities unless a ransom was paid. With no way of stopping the Black Widow’s crime spree, with several male agents having met a grizzly end, MI6 opted for a different approach, knowing the Widow had a preference for females, particularly those who looked like Haught.

“I want to be clear,” the Widow said, pulling up another chair to face her adversary, the gun still pointing at Haught’s heart. “Had you not been a British agent I might have kept you as my pet.”

“Not partial to wearing a collar,” Nicole replied, noticing the Widow’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “But, if that’s your kink.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall.”

“My hands tied to this chair will be my downfall. Another of your kinks no doubt.”

The widow lowered her gun. “You are my type, there’s no denying. That air of confidence in the face of death titillates me. Maybe I will keep you after all. Let you serve me.”

“What if I bite?”

Nicole spotted the micro movement in the Widow’s bare shoulders, confirming she was interested in her captive, believing she could tame Haught. She couldn’t, no one could except one. Another student at Oxford, equally bright, stunningly attractive, youngest daughter of a newspaper magnate, family descended from dukes and marquesses, growing up in a fifteenth century manor house. Waverly Earp, the love of Nicole’s life, the one person she would die for, the one person she lived for.

Both knew Nicole’s chosen career path was risky, Waverly begging her to reconsider when MI6 approached, Nicole almost turning down the position, her fierce loyalty to Queen and country eventually swaying all other arguments. It caused the rift between her and the one she loved, Waverly unwilling to accept the possibility Nicole might actually die in the line of duty. “No one is worth that sacrifice,” she said, the night they parted. “No one. Not even me.”

“I have to,” Nicole replied. “I can’t walk away and let someone else do this.”

“What about me?” Waverly asked. “What about us? Do we not matter?”

Nicole had taken her in her arms, the agony of knowing she was losing Waverly unbearable. “I won’t die.”

She felt Waverly’s hands against her chest, the pushing away. “You will. And, I’ll be left to mourn what could have been. I hate you.”

Those three words were seared into her heart that fateful night, driving away from Chalfield Manor in her father’s E-Type Jaguar, her face stained with the only tears she would shed for anyone. She knew she was making a life-changing decision, knew by taking one path she closed another, knew if she didn’t she would forever regret not following her head, even if it meant silencing her heart.

There had been occasions when their paths crossed again. Dinner parties, university events, weddings and funerals, their families remaining close, their shattered relationship left unspoken as one does in polite society. Everyone knew, everyone who was close to them knew how they felt for each other, even though no one said it. It was there in their eyes each time they saw the other, the lingering look across tables wondering if the other had moved on, or found someone to take their place. 

For Nicole there would never be another to take Waverly’s place, content to wine and dine whoever passed through her life, unable and unwilling to commit to anyone who didn’t laugh like Waverly, or smile like Waverly, or make love to her like Waverly. She would hear on the grapevine about Waverly’s latest suitor, glad when news would filter through the relationship had faltered, never seeking to know why, praying it might be because there remained a tiny flicker of hope they might one day be together. 

Not that Nicole prayed a whole lot, given the line of work she had chosen to pursue. When you’ve killed the number she had, praying becomes somewhat hypocritical, dispatching others to their maker not conducive with asking for forgiveness from a higher power. Kill or be killed was her prayer. Dog eat dog. 

The Widow moved nearer, unfazed at being so close to an assassin. “I must say I find you delicious. I could positively eat you.”

“If you untie me,” Nicole suggested, “perhaps we could dine out together.”

The Widow laughed. “Oh, I think we both know you’re better chained. I have a better idea, I want to hear you beg me to release you.”

“Begging's not my style.”

“Really,” the Widow replied. “I think it might be. You see I know your weakness.”

Nicole smirked. “I don’t even know that. Perhaps if you let me show you what I can do you’ll realise I don’t have any weaknesses. Not when it comes to your body.”

The Widow rose from the chair, heading towards the door, knocking once. It opened, Nicole unable to hear what was being said. The Widow turned, smiling in a way Nicole could easily have shot her right there, right through the face. “We have a guest,” she announced. “Someone who’s dying to meet you.”

The door remained open, two guys dressed in combat gear entering, escorting someone. Nicole’s body jerked at her restraints when she saw who it was, Waverly’s lip puffy from having received some kind of a blow, her cocktail dress ripped at the shoulder, her hands bound in front. On seeing Nicole tied to a chair in the middle of the room she broke down, tears flowing, wanting to hug her at knowing she was still alive.

The chair on which the widow had sat was moved next to Nicole’s, Waverly made to sit on it, the pair left alone as the guards and the Widow exited the room. As soon as the door closed Waverly turned to Nicole. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve done this to you.”

Nicole pulled at her restraints. “So, how’s Perry?”

Waverly shot her a look. “We’re about to be killed and all you’re interested in is who I’m currently dating.”

“I hear he’s been overlooked for promotion at the bank. Again. How many times is that? Three, four.”

Waverly let out a gasp. “It wasn’t again. Once. He missed out on one promotion, which wasn’t his fault.”

“If you want to spend your life with promotion-less Perry don’t let me stop you.”

“I do, as it happens.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. You could at least be pleased.”

“Oh, I’m pleased. I think you two are more than suited.”

“You see, this is why. This. You think there’s no one else but you. Well let me tell you there are plenty more fish in the sea.”

“Pilchards.”

Waverly let out a laugh. “Pasta Puttanesca I remember. You couldn’t get enough of it.”

“It kept us going.”

“All night.”

“All night.”

The door burst open, the Widow entering. “Enough of the school reunions. Which one of you wants to die first?”

“I’d raise my hand,” Nicole offered. “Only, I’m tied to this chair.”

Nicole’s insolence earned Waverly a slap to the face from the Widow. “I think we have the answer. Let’s see if your arrogance holds while watching your girlfriend die. Guards.”

“Okay, okay,” Nicole replied. “Me. Kill me. Think of the pleasure you’ll get watching the light go out in my eyes.”

The Widow paused, holding her hand up to the two guards who had entered. “I would like to see that, you’re right. In the presence of your girlfriend would be delicious. I so wish she could see me eat you.”

Nicole turned to Waverly. “Whatever happens keep your eyes closed. If you get out of here there’s a letter waiting for you. J knows.”

“Wait. Who? And, why can’t you say what’s in it.”

Nicole’s eyes darted to the Widow. “I should have said what's inside a long time ago. But, hey look at us now, locked in a room, no way out.”

“If you’d taken my advice we could be holidaying in the Bahamas, me in a bikini. But, hey look at us now. You know I really hate you-”

“Girls, girls, enough with the bitchy comments. So, I’m going with killing 00H if that’s okay with everyone. Are we all okay with that?”

Nicole tugged at her restraints again. “I’m perfectly happy, so long as you release Waverly.”

The Widow laughed. “Oh, sure, anything you say. Now, do I shoot you myself, or have one of my guards do it while I watch? Decisions, decisions.”

Nicole sighed. “Let me save you the trouble. In precisely one minute you will not need to make that decision.”

“As if anyone is coming for you. We're on an abandoned island no one has bothered about in decades. We’re invisible. Ghosts.”

“Except, I’m not. I’m a walking beacon.”

“Oh, please. Enough with the importance. No one knows you’re here.”

“Really. No one. Can you be sure?”

“Stop stalling. Say goodbye girlfriend,” the Widow replied, her forehead creasing a little, her head tilting a little, the grip on her gun tightening a little, enough for Nicole to know she had her.

“What if there was.”

“I've changed my mind. Let's see how smug this bitch is watching her girlfriend die.”

“Are you willing to take the chance?” 

“Don’t. Seriously, don’t. I’m not in the mood to be played with.”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“Nine.”

The Widow glared at Haught, her finger itching on the trigger.

“Eight.”

A moment of indecision, the aim of her gun moving from Nicole to Waverly.

“Seven.”

A clicking sound as the trigger was pulled, without the explosion of a bullet leaving the barrel.

“Six.”

The Widow pulled the trigger again, and again, screaming in frustration, throwing the gun to the floor.

“Five.”

“Give me your gun,” the Widow demanded of the nearest guard.

“Four.”

“Give me the gun.”

“Three.”

“I order you.”

“Two.”

“Fuck.”

“One...”


	2. Bahamas

Waverly screamed as the lights went out, not knowing what was happening, expecting any moment to see the flash followed by the explosion of a gun firing. Those in the room with her were moving, a struggle of some sort to her right, no her left, she couldn’t be sure, the Widow yelling for more guards. Waverly’s heart pounded faster than ever, her breathing in short sharp pants as she tried to make sense of what was occurring in the blackened room. When the lights came back on Nicole was standing before her, attempting to button her torn shirt.

“You don’t have to,” Waverly said, gazing at Nicole’s toned abs, “not for me.”

Nicole winked. “For appearances. Maybe later.”

Xavier tapped Nicole on the shoulder. “The boat is waiting. I suggest we get going.”

The Widow was now the one restrained, the second guard pinning her arms behind her back, Xavier placing tape over her mouth and a hood over her head. Nicole took the knife from Xavier’s belt slicing through the ties holding Waverly’s wrists. “Shame,” Nicole said. “Still plenty time for that too.”

Waverly’s lips were on Nicole’s before she could stop herself, the intensity of the situation, the possibility of imminent death, causing her to do something she promised she wouldn’t. Nicole’s hands found her waist allowing herself to be reunited with her ex-lover, remembering how it felt to have those soft lips on hers, wondering whether Xavier would give them a few moments in private to make out. 

Gunshots and explosions from beyond the room told Nicole it might be better evacuating North Brother Island for a less dangerous location, taking Waverly’s hand, following Xavier along the corridor. Bodies lay everywhere as they entered the larger space, Waverly recoiling at the sight of blood oozing from the one nearest to her, unable to look away from the frozen features of the dead now littering the floor. Nicole felt the resistance in Waverly’s hand, turning, seeing the panic in her eyes. “It’s okay. Not much further. Close your eyes if you have to.”

“How?” she asked. “How can you do this?”

“Us, or them,” Nicole replied. “Better if it’s them.”

More explosions, the rapid fire of a machine gun, the agonising groan of someone having been shot. “I can’t,” Waverly said, her legs unable to carry her forward. “Nicole, I can’t.”

“Nearly there,” Nicole reassured. “A little further and we’re clear.”

One of the Widow’s guards appeared from behind a wall, Xavier’s quick reflexes taking him down with two shots to the chest. The thud of heavy boots on concrete alerted them to others approaching from the opposite direction, more footsteps echoing off the walls ahead. “We’re being surrounded,” Xavier shouted. “I’ll take front. You take out the back.”

Nicole retrieved the machine gun from the dead guard, pulling Waverly behind her. “Stay close,” she yelled, as she opened fire on the two guys approaching. The deafening rat-a-tat-tat of the gun in Nicole’s hand stunned Waverly, the return fire equally loud, Nicole pressing her back against Waverly, using her body as a shield against the bullets flying in all directions. Another burst of gunfire, then silence, Waverly opening her eyes, peering round Nicole’s shoulder. “Are they?”

“Very. We need to hurry. I don’t think they were alone.”

Reaching the entrance Xavier went first, his gun poised to take out anyone who came across their path. “I’ll put you on the boat,” he said, as he scanned the area for the Widow’s men. “We have another coming for the Widow.”

“I’m staying. Get Waverly to safety.”

“Not your job H. Leave the Widow to us.”

Nicole nodded, taking Waverly’s hand once more, telling her to stay low and keep moving. A boat was waiting by the jetty for them, setting off at speed as soon as they were on board, Waverly still traumatised by what she witnessed, the images of those killed replaying in her mind every time she closed her eyes. Unable to stop herself shaking, Nicole removed her jacket, wrapping it around Waverly’s shoulders, holding her close. “It’s over. We’re safe. Waverly look at me, we’re safe.”

Her eyes found Nicole’s. “We nearly died.”

“We didn’t. We made it.”

“Take me home.”

“I will. Unless you fancy that holiday.”

Waverly was silent. She needed to be near Nicole, needed to feel safe again, needed to lie naked in a bed with her and let the past twenty four hours be erased from her mind. “I’m with Perry.”

“I wish you weren’t.”

“We’re on a break.”

“Was it the promotion?”

Waverly let out a nervous laugh. “You hate him don’t you?”

“Does he know I’m licensed to kill?”

“Stop it. He’s done nothing to you.”

“This break you’re on, temporary, or permanent?”

“Temporary. Why?”

“I’m trying to imagine you in a white bikini. Actually, I’m trying to imagine you not in a white bikini.”

Waverly snuggled into Nicole’s body realising she would much rather be with her than with Perry. As the speedboat docked Nicole could see J waiting on the pier, his arms folded, his forehead creased. “Two taps on the wrist, not three. I went through this with you. Three is for missiles.”

“I thought three was for extraction.”

“Two is extraction. One for no help required. Luckily, I interpreted your signal correctly.”

“Thanks. Missiles would have been awkward.”

“Given we want the Black Widow alive, I concur. Hello Waverly, I’m J.”

Waverly stared at the stranger trying to process what was being discussed. “J’s my go to person,” Nicole explained. “Computer wiz, gadget mad. He’s the one who insisted I have the wrist transmitter.”

“Your parents have been informed of your rescue,” J said. “I have a private plane waiting to take you home.”

“About that,” Nicole replied. “Was hoping to make a little detour, if that’s okay with you. I have a few days leave owing now the Widow’s in our possession.”

“It’s against orders. I was told to bring you to London immediately. M is waiting to debrief you.”

Nicole’s eyes went to Waverly’s lower body. “I promise we’ll come straight back to London.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you when M reads you the riot act. You have twenty-four hours, no more.”

Their plane touched down at Nassau airport, the couple taking a taxi on the five minute journey to an exclusive hotel Nicole had dreamed of taking Waverly, The Island House overlooking Old Fort Bay, J having secured them a poolside cottage for the duration of their short stay. “I’ve nothing to wear,” Waverly said as she viewed the gorgeous room. 

“Not a problem,” Nicole replied, unfastening the buttons still remaining on her shirt. “I’ll get room service to bring over a selection of bikinis.”

Removing her shirt, Waverly noticed the large purple bruises on Nicole’s shoulder, letting out a gasp. “You’re hurt.”

“Might not be needing that bikini after all.”

“Let me see.” Waverly’s fingers brushed against Nicole’s skin. “They told me you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Waverly pulled away. “I prayed it wasn't true. The thought of never seeing you again.”

“Told you I wouldn't die.”

Waverly’s fingers went to her puffy lip. “They told me if I didn’t do what they said they would shoot my parents.”

“Oh Waverly, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.

"It's what you do. I just-"

"I’ve tried living without you, but I can’t. Seeing you in that room made me realise what’s important. It's you.”

“I’m with Perry.”

“Are you?” Nicole's hands going to the button on her trousers, Waverly’s eyes following the downward movement of the zipper. “I need you in my life.”

Letting the trousers fall, stepping out of them, she approached Waverly, turning her round to release the long zip on the back of her torn dress. “I tried forgetting about you,” Waverly said. “What you mean to me. I still hate you.”

Nicole brushed aside Waverly’s hair, kissing the nape of her neck, the smell of her skin intoxicating, the memory of their first night together returning. A private party hosted by a mutual friend, Waverly in the most exquisite dress, taking in the evening air on the balcony, a champagne flute in her right hand. Sex on the first date had never been Nicole’s style, preferring the long tease. Waverly was different. The moment Nicole saw her she knew what she wanted, and it was Waverly, only Waverly. 

The attraction was instant, on both sides, Nicole escorting Waverly back to her room, staying the night, and the next, and the next. An easy relationship, full of laughter and steamy sex, both knowing what they had was special. 

Nicole turned Waverly to face her, hands reaching behind to unfasten her bra, letting it fall, standing back a little to admire once more. “You are my world, Waverly Earp. Not a day goes by when I don’t regret losing you.” Kneeling before her, Nicole removed the last item of clothing, her head resting on Waverly’s stomach taking in the heady scent of her skin once more. “I worship you. I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.”

Waverly stepped out of her heels, bringing her body down to meet Nicole’s. “Yes.”

Nicole heard the word, her heart missing a beat, taking Waverly in her arms. “I love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

“You’ll have to ask me properly.”

Nicole released Waverly, taking her right hand in hers. “Waverly Earp, will you marry me?”

“Yes. I will.”

“Guess I’ll have to buy you more than a bikini. Who’s going to tell Perry?”

M had her head down as Nicole entered her office, reading a memo on the rescue from the Island. She paused, looking up, Nicole spotting she was wearing her less-than-pleased look. “Three of ours dead. Three. And, a failed extraction.”

“Failed?” Nicole said.

“And, you do not get the use of a government plane to go holidaying. I’ve a good mind to fire you on the spot.”

“About that.”

“The Widow is loose.”

“But we-”

“The boat was intercepted. She’s out there somewhere planning to take down more cities. Your mission was to bring her here, for interrogation.”

“What about Waverly?”

“Unfortunate. Her bodyguard is in hospital.”

“They knew.”

“As I said, unfortunate. Will this be a problem?”

“I need to protect her.”

“We will assign an agent to accompany her until her bodyguard has recovered. I repeat, will this be a problem?”

“We’re engaged.”

“Congratulations,” M replied, almost breaking into a smile.

“I resign my position.”

M’s face returned to neutral. “Not accepted. You need to bring me the Widow before I can consider releasing you.”

“I can’t risk Waverly.”

“OOH may I remind you, you are working for the British government. That is your priority as an elite officer trained to kill. We will ensure Waverly and her family are kept safe. Do your job. You leave in one hour for Tokyo.”

J was waiting outside, the letter Nicole had written Waverly in the event of her death in his hand. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Nicole took it from him, ripping it in half. “I haven’t had time to get her a ring. If anything happens to me.”

J placed a hand on her arm. “I can research a selection for you, unless you want custom made. You can finalise the details on your return.”

“If I don’t, will you tell her.”

J shook his head. “That’s your job. Now go get that bad girl, so you come back and marry that gorgeous girl of yours. I’ll expect an invite.”

As the plane took off from Heathrow, on route to Tokyo, Nicole gazed out over the city. More than anything she wanted to be with Waverly, holding her tight, telling her the fight was over. All she could do was send a text saying she was sorry, praying she would return this time.


	3. Bobo

Waverly’s mother was with her when she received Nicole’s text, consoling her daughter as she broke down once more over the one she loved. “She promised me. Nicole promised me she would quit after what happened.”

“My darling, she may not be able.”

“I said yes,” Waverly replied, between sobs.

“To what my darling?”

“She asked and I said yes.”

“But, you’re with Perry.”

“We’re on a break.”

Waverly saw the pain in her mother’s eyes. “Oh my darling, it's too soon to make such big plans. You need time.”

“I should have listened to Nigel. He had a bad feeling about the place.”

“He’s recovering. The hospital said his arm’s on the mend. Your father is furious.”

“With me?”

“With everyone but you,” her mother replied, patting Waverly’s hand.

“If I’d left when Nigel said, none of this would have happened.”

“Your father is demanding a full report from MI6 on why this happened. You know he won’t rest until he gets answers. He’s even had words with Nicole's father.”

“Why?”

“He’s hoping he has more sway with the government to look into your abduction.”

“Please don’t get Nicole into trouble.”

“Darling, someone needs to be held responsible. I suggest you don’t mention what Nicole asked you just yet.”

“What should I do?”

“Keep quiet would be my advice. He’s not in the best of moods.”

“About Nicole.”

“You need to consider the life you’ll have with her. Are you sure Perry wouldn’t be a better choice?”

Waverly hugged her mother, heading to her bedroom, retrieving Nicole’s text, waiting to hear her voice. “Are you okay?” Nicole said on answering.

“No.”

“One more mission. That’s all.”

“Until the next.”

“Waverly, please. I had no choice. I resigned, but she’s loose.”

Waverly shuddered. “Where are you?”

“On my way to sort it out. Can I call you when I get to the hotel?”

“It will always be one more mission.”

“This is the last one, I promise. M’s sorting out protection.”

“From who?”

Nicole laughed. “From me. I’m sorry, you should never have been there.”

“Stay safe,” Waverly replied, attempting to hang up, needing to hear Nicole’s voice.

“I love you. I’m coming back, if only to annoy you.”

“I love you too.”

Xavier was waiting at the airport to collect her, Nicole thankful he was alive. They had worked together enough times for each to know how the other operated, especially under pressure. He filled her in on their next assignment, telling her the British government suspected another rogue force would have been behind the Widow’s escape. Someone who clearly wanted the Widow alive and on their side, rather than divulging anything to the British government.

They were in Tokyo to meet with a known informer who could be made to squeal for the right price. Bobo Del Ray, ex-military turned mercenary, running illegal casinos right under the nose of the city’s metropolitan police. His nightclubs attracted baka gaijin, foolish foreigners, a place where over-priced drinks were served by scantily-clad girls there to entertain drunk businessmen while away from their families.

Bobo’s speciality was finding those rich enough, read stupid enough, to venture into his underground gambling dens to try their luck at the tables, knowing once inside he could entice them to part with most of their money. Fawning women, wearing even less than those above ground, were employed to offer extra encouragement, stroking thighs and arms, pretending to be interested. Extremely sexist, yet extremely profitable.

Xavier pulled up outside The Peninsula, handing the keys of their car to the valet, extracting Nicole’s bag from the boot. “We’ll meet in the bar in half an hour,” he instructed. “We eat, then we party. Wear that scarlet dress of yours. It gets you noticed.”

“Do I get a say on what you’re wearing?”

“Grey suit, black shirt. Standard operating attire.”

“You know I can’t run fast in the heels that go with it.”

“I’m banking on us walking in, walking out. No bang bang this time.”

Nicole smirked. “You’re ex-SAS and you call firing a gun bang bang.”

With a key in her hand she made her way to the seventeenth floor, the room a reasonable size for a five-star hotel, checking the view over the city. So many times she had sat alone in rooms such as these wondering what Waverly was doing, what it would be like to lead a normal life with her, what it would be like to make love to her in that particular room. Their brief detour to Nassau was everything she needed to put her life into perspective. 

Six years she had given to the service, six grueling years of training, both mentally and physically. She was in the best shape she had ever been, apart from an injured shoulder, the result of an altercation with one of the Widow’s goons before being overpowered. She would miss the thrill of the job, the adrenaline rush of close combat, the mental gymnastics in outwitting her opponent. Showering, a towel wrapped round her head, she sat on the bed, her phone in her hand, her thoughts returning to Waverly being dragged into her dangerous life, the terror in Waverly’s eyes shaking her more than she realised. She should never have been there, never. 

Knowledge of their relationship had been kept quiet, only shared with close family and select friends who knew them at Oxford. The only other people who knew were in MI6, a requirement of the job to inform whether there were any persons who might compromise an agent through knowing them. She had explained their relationship was over, that there would be little compromise on her side given Waverly’s parting words. Someone knew. Someone had told, or had figured out Waverly was indeed her weakness, the one person she would sacrifice herself for, if asked. And, the Widow had known that, had deliberately dangled Waverly’s life in front of her. But, why?

“Hi,” Waverly said, her voice shaky. “Where are you?”

“Hotel. Jet lagged. How are you?”

“Sad.”

“I never got to give you a ring.” Silence, Waverly not sure what to say, not wanting to say it, not over the phone, not when Nicole had a job to do. “Are you still there?”

“We can wait.”

“J offered to do some research for me, but I want us to choose together.”

“Nicole.”

“I have my grandmother’s ring. We can alter it. Cartier, square cut.”

“Nicole.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just this one mission then I’m out. I’ll get a desk job, file papers, whatever it takes.”

“We can’t.”

“Do not relegate me to Perry status.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Look what we had in Nassau. I know what’s in your heart. You showed me.”

“I need time.”

“You’ve had six years and you’re still not over me.”

“Don’t.”

“Talk to me, tell me what you whispered in bed.”

“No one else.”

“No one else. No one else. You know it’s the same for me. I can’t look at anyone else without seeing you.”

“It’s too much.”

“So, you’d rather have predictable Perry.”

“I didn’t say that. And, he’s not predictable. Okay, he is, but he won’t get himself killed, or me.”

“The Widow knew. I’ve asked M to investigate.”

“My father’s not happy.”

“Can imagine.”

“He’s asked your father for help.”

“Great. That’s going to be awkward at the wedding.”

“They’ll still play golf together. I’d better go.”

“Wait. What are you wearing?”

“More than Nassau. You never did get me that bikini. What are you wearing?”

“Same as Nassau. Just showered. Can I call you again?”

“I…”

“I do too.”

Nicole could hear the hesitation in Waverly’s voice, knowing she had even more reason not to resume their relationship after witnessing the carnage on North Brother Island. Nicole was used to the chaos that came with her job, the split-second decisions needed on whether to take another’s life, seeing the crimson river leaving the dead. That was all new to Waverly, something which would probably give her nightmares, more than likely would need counselling to overcome. 

It had taken Nicole months to get used to the sound of a gun going off in close proximity, learning how not to close down but to use the adrenaline to fuel her through a fight. Get the job done was drilled into her, over, and over, and over. Get the job done, or get dead. A simple mantra. The first person to be killed by her own hands took everything to a whole new level. Having a licence to kill was one thing, using it, carrying out an instruction to end another’s life something no training can prepare you for. 

Xavier knocked loudly on the door, his eyes taking in Nicole’s form as she emerged from the room dressed to kill. “Very nice. Very nice indeed.”

“You’re married. And, I’m gay.”

“Bobo’s in for a treat. Shall we.”

Making their way to the hotel’s exclusive restaurant on the twenty fourth floor they dined at the expense of Her Majesty’s government, Nicole sipping her signature Old Fashioned cocktail, Xavier on his second beer. They both understood the risks of the game they were in, neither discussing how it affected them, remaining professional at all times.

Xavier had been married four years, one child, a boy, another on the way. His partner also knew the risks, ex-military herself, retired for medical reasons, accidentally shot by another in her unit during a dog fight in a back street. The scar she carried, along with all of Xavier’s, reminding them how lucky they were to still be alive.

Bobo’s nightclub was heaving, bouncers on the door allowing them in having checked for guns, Nicole and Xavier pushing their way through the crowd towards the back, each casing the venue as they made their way. Reaching the bar Xavier handed the girl serving a hundred dollar bill, the standard entrance fee for Bobo’s illicit casino, along with a business card.

The speed with which the girl accepted both items impressed Nicole, her eyes scanning the bar for those who might be as quick with a gun, judging most were hapless punters in search of a good time while on business trips abroad. Motioning with her eyes, they followed the bartender to a storeroom to one side of the bar, the girl opening a door to a freezer unit, pointing to the far wall. “Four knocks.”

As the freezer door closed on them both were no longer sure they were in control. Their breath formed white clouds as they moved towards the back, Nicole now wishing she had worn more than the skimpy scarlet dress Xavier suggested. Knocking as instructed they waited, the mechanical sound of a motor behind the wall a relief, watching as it slid to the left to reveal a set of stairs to Bobo’s subterranean world.

The casino was quiet, fifty or so gambling away their salaries, the women employed by Bobo sitting around looking bored. A guy in a black suit with a distinctive bulge under his jacket escorted them to a roulette table, Nicole pretending to be with Xavier, her eyes searching for the owner. Three bets in, Xavier pushed a note written on a napkin to the croupier asking to speak to the manager. Within seconds two of Bobo’s henchmen were behind them, the croupier pointing to a booth to the left, Nicole and Xavier following.

“I don’t like surprises,” Bobo said, sipping a daiquiri. “Whoever you are. Guessing you’re not who you say on your card.”

“Who has the Widow?” Nicole said, her eyes fixed on Bobo.

“The Widow. The Widow. Ah, yes. Part of his collection.”

“His. Collection for who?”


	4. Bankers

Bobo motioned with his right hand for them to join him, running one finger around the rim of his glass, bringing it to his lips. “Someone who doesn’t want to be known. Someone who lives in the shadows and will not take kindly to having his affairs exposed.”

Nicole opened her purse, Bobo’s bodyguards reaching for their guns. “I have a small present that’s all,” she said, “if you’ll let me show you.” Reaching inside, she retrieved the quarter concealing a micro card, pushing it across the table, Bobo’s eyes following as Nicole’s finger remained on top of the covert coin. “I give you this, you give me the Widow and whoever she’s working for.”

“If that’s what I think it is,” Bobo replied, “I’ll happily give you the Widow. I will need to check first it’s all there.”

“It’s all there. If you don’t trust me, I can go elsewhere.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”

“Both, or nothing. That’s the trade.”

Bobo took another sip of his daiquiri. “My life would be over if I gave you more than the Widow.”

Nicole began to slide the coin back to her side of the table. “Both.”

“Alright. I have a company name. Nothing more.”

Nicole glanced at Xavier, his head nodding. “The name.”

“In Frankfurt. A private bank.”

“A front. Not good enough. I’ll need more.”

“The Widow’s money is funnelled through Clanton Capital. It’s all I have.”

“That doesn’t tell us who the Widow is working for,” Nicole replied, picking up the coin, about to put it back in her purse.

“Margot Clanton,” Bobo offered. “She’s known by those who use her services as God’s new banker.”

Nicole placed the coin back on the table. “If what you say checks out I’ll send you the access code.”

Bobo reached over to take the coin, Nicole placing a finger on top of his. “If not, we never do business again.”

Bobo shrugged. “What’s the Widow to you?”

“She owes me.”

The pair made their way out of the club, hailing a taxi to take them back to their hotel, waiting until they were inside Nicole’s room before discussing what they now knew, knowing not to reveal too much in case anyone was listening. “It’s not a name I know,” Nicole said, stepping out of her heels. “So uncomfortable.”

“He knew more,” Xavier replied, opening the mini bar. “Brandy, or whiskey?”

“Brandy. Why hasn’t she come up on our radar before?”

“Maybe she has. If she’s what he says she is, then we’re talking...”

“We had her. That’s the frustrating part.”

“I suspect she’ll be twice as shy from now on. How’s Waverly?”

“Traumatised. I don’t get it. Her father’s on the warpath.”

“Not surprised. It was touch and go getting her out.”

“She’s not trained for this.”

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

“A little premature. She’s thinking about it. It’s all this.”

“It’s not the lifestyle for everyone. Jules understands, but we’ve had words, fierce words.”

“I handed in my resignation.”

Xavier took a mouthful of whiskey. “Would like to have seen the boss’s face.”

“She refused. Said I have to finish here before she’ll consider it.”

“Then we’d best get our girl and her boss. I’ll say goodnight.”

Nicole sat looking out over the twinkling lights of the city wanting to be beside Waverly more than ever, her mind made up she would hunt down the Black Widow, put an end to her criminal activity so she could be free to marry. Sending a coded message to J relaying what Bobo had told them, she removed her dress heading to the bathroom, studying her face in the mirror and the deep bruising on her shoulder. 

Luckily her dress covered most of it, a little make-up hiding the rest. She was used to patching herself up, used to seeing the trademarks of the job on her body. That was one thing she would not miss from this lifestyle, this crazy, crazy lifestyle. The aching muscles, torn tendons, the broken little finger on her left hand, which throbbed in cold weather, and the scar on her left hip. She had been lucky that day, extremely lucky, the bullet doing no more than graze her side, allowing her to finish her mission, dressing it herself in a hotel room with the help of Tequila. 

That was the other thing she would not miss, carrying a fully-stocked first aid kit for such emergencies. Waverly had spotted the scar, running her finger along its path, saying nothing. What could she say? What words could she use knowing what her lover did was etched on their body, like some tacky tattoo? She didn’t need words, her eyes said it all. 

Turning off the bathroom light she removed the last of her clothing, slipping under the duvet, its touch cool against her skin. Nicole’s phone buzzed, a message from J to say he would check out the information and get back to her. Her phone buzzed again. Waverly asking if she was free to talk. Her stomach lurched, hoping it wasn’t the end of what they had only just resumed, hoping Waverly would give her one more chance. “Hi, what time is it?” Waverly asked.

“Late. Everything okay?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I can sing to you if you like.”

“You’re a dreadful singer. What song?”

“Ah, it’s a secret. I was hoping to sing it to in person.”

“You’re a dreadful liar too.”

“Just a one cornetto,” Nicole warbled, Waverly’s laugh exactly how she remembered. “Give it to me.”

“That’s truly awful.”

“I could sing it at our wedding if you like.”

“I’ll divorce you on the spot if you do. The new bodyguard is here. Father’s taken him to task already. He won’t let me leave the house.”

“We’ll have to elope. I’ll climb up to your window.”

“I’m not very good at climbing, remember. I miss you.”

“Remember when I climbed up the pipe to your college room.”

“Oh God, yes. It broke. You nearly fell.”

“That was some night. You were louder than ever.”

“Don’t. I’m getting turned on just thinking about it.”

“I had to put a pillow over your head. It’s turning me on too.”

“Putting a pillow over my head. Kinky.”

“Four times.”

“Three. No, you’re right it was four. That was some night. I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too. I’d make it five in one night.”

“Nicole! We nearly did in Nassau. How’s your shoulder?”

“Mending. I’m used to it.”

“Mother suggested I see someone to talk through what happened.”

“They’ll need to be approved by M.”

“I won’t say anything about you.”

“Defeats the object of talking to someone.”

“When are you coming home?”

The word 'home' hit Nicole hard. “I…I’m not sure. A little more work to do. Soon, I promise.”

“If I’m allowed out I could come stay at yours.”

“Guessing I can't stay at your father's.”

“You can. Okay, maybe not at the moment with the mood he's in. He'll only pester you on the report.”

“How’s Wynonna?”

“The same. Sends her regards.”

“How many swear words did she use?”

“A few. Not that many. Okay, I lost count.”

“What would you like me to bring back from here?”

“You.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. We still need to pick out rings.”

“I like the idea of your grandmother’s. I don’t think I have one for our family. I’ll ask.”

“I’d settle for plastic. One of those flower rings that squirt water.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Love you. Stay safe. Come home.”

“Hey, what are you wearing?”

“Joggers and a tee.”

“I still have the video.”

“Oh God, no. Delete it. What if someone sees it?”

“Send me another and I will.”

“No. That’s even worse. You send me one.”

“Deal. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Nicole! Don’t. Okay, but you send yours first.”

“Get ready for this love machine to do its thing, baby.”

“That’s worse than the song.”

“I’ll sing it while I…”

“I’m going.”

Nicole switched the phone to camera, holding it at arm’s length so Waverly could see enough of her body, throwing back the covers, pressing the record button, she began filming while singing the first line of the corny song in a more seductive way, pouting when she ran out of words. Closing her eyes she let her fingers dance their way down her body, remembering Waverly’s touch, remembering Waverly’s hair tickling her stomach, remembering the glide of Waverly's tongue across her skin.

As her breathing picked up, as her hand edged nearer to her thighs, as her lips whispered her lover’s name, her phone buzzed making her jump, wondering if Waverly had beaten her to it. A text from J asking her to call, cursing under her breath as she rang his number. “What is it?”

“I’ve booked you on a flight to Frankfurt tomorrow morning.”

“What have you found out?”

“The bank is clean. Doesn’t show up anywhere.”

“A false lead. Thought so.”

“Not exactly. It’s too clean. All transactions accounted for and legal. No money laundering.”

“And you still want me to go to Frankfurt.”

“We think they’re operating behind a facade. We know Bobo would not have revealed it unless there’s a connection. He’s too careful for that.”

“I agree, it’s too specific. But, can we be sure?”

“I’ll need you to meet with the Vice Chairman. I’m attempting to set up a meeting as a new client of theirs. That should give you access to her office. I’ll brief Xavier separately on his part.”

“Her.”

“Cleo Clanton. Daughter of Margot Clanton. Seems to be running the bank while her mother basks in Monaco.”

“Shouldn’t I be going to Monaco?”

“I need access to their computer systems. I’m guessing most of the less legitimate money is being siphoned through rogue accounts.”

“I didn’t get a name for the top guy. Just Margot’s title.”

“We’re looking into associates. I’m guessing it’s someone we know already.”

Nicole finished the call, still none the wiser as to how the Clanton’s could lead her back to the Widow, even less sure who was behind the Widow’s rescue. Obviously, it had to be someone bigger, Bobo admitting as much, that the Widow was part of a collection. A tantalising piece of information dangled before her to whet the appetite. Who collects sick bitches like the Widow? Only someone as sick as, if not sicker. Someone who thought nothing of poisoning people, the death toll from the Widow’s handy work standing at four thousand. Four thousand lives for what? How much money does a person need if it means killing the innocent?

They had lured the Widow out, months in the preparation, Nicole sent in to spice things up, finding herself at a private residence in New York. Everything was going to plan until the Widow received a phone call, leaving the room where they were dining, returning a few moments later with four of her bodyguards. “I must say you are not how I envisaged a British agent.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Nicole replied, pretending to look surprised.

“Naughty. I detest liars as much as I detest lobster.”

“I assure you I look better naked in a hot tub.”

“So delicious. But my friend says I can’t play with you anymore.”

Nicole glanced at the four burly guards ready to pounce, assessing which to take out first. With no weapon it would be down to hand to hand combat, something she excelled in, pushing her chair away, grabbing the guy nearest her by the lapels, using the table as leverage to throw him the other side of the room. One down, three to go, odds she liked.


	5. Bull

Two down, two to go, Nicole was beginning to enjoy herself. That is, until the door opened and six more of the Widow’s bodyguards entered. She knew it was game over. Even her exceptional fighting skills were no match for a mob, taking a heavy blow to the shoulder from the boot of one of the Widow’s thugs, the force of which sent her flying. Winded, a hood placed over her head, hands tied behind her back, she was dragged out to a waiting car, the destination of which she had yet to learn. 

She knew it would not be a luxury hotel to which she was heading, or luxury of any kind. Rather a dingy room in a disused building on a small island on New York’s East River, there to await her fate. Had the Widow known Nicole’s capture had been part of MI6’s plan all along she might have dispatched her sooner, disposed of the body somewhere, as she had done with other agents. In Nicole’s favour was her physical appearance, appealing to the Widow’s desire for beautiful women to fawn over her, make her feel like a goddess. 

Xavier was waiting in the lobby of their hotel checking his watch. “We’d better get a move on. Traffic is a nightmare.”

Nicole handed over her key to the receptionist, noticing her blush. “Lovely room, thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your stay Miss Haught,” the receptionist replied, unable to look at her.

“You really don’t have to flirt with everyone,” Xavier said, as they drove away from the Peninsula.

“It’s the hair. And, the height. What will you be doing in Frankfurt?”

“J suggested food poisoning. I’m the distraction for you.”

“Lucky you.”

The flight to Germany was equally long, Nicole stretching out in First Class, catching up on her sleep. There were glamorous aspects of the job, the luxury hotels, designer clothes, fine dining in fancy restaurants, not flying economy. Then there were less glamorous aspects, the long hours spent on planes, being tied to chairs in grubby basements, the distinct possibility of being killed. It wasn’t a balancing act, one glamorous aspect offsetting one less-than glamorous aspect, it was more a case of opposing sides. 

She could happily see herself jetting round the world with Waverly without having to kill anyone. She could also see herself living a life where she never had to get on another plane, or kill anyone. Perhaps a cosy cottage somewhere deep in the English countryside, or a farm, living a normal, if somewhat dull existence like any other normal couple would, without the prospect of corpses littering floors as part of a future job description. 

In the absence of such a lifestyle on the immediate horizon, the couple had to content themselves with sexy videos, Nicole eventually finishing hers, Waverly sending one in return. Having watched it countless times Nicole found it hard sleeping, her mind filled with Waverly’s soft moans and soft whispering of her name.

Another luxury hotel, another plush room, Nicole dropped her bag on the stand, heading to the window to check the view. She always did that, always took in where she was, yet again wondering what it would be like being in this particular room with Waverly. There had been no texts since their risqué video exchanges, Nicole sending a short message to say she had arrived. 

Waverly replied a few minutes later to say she had been allowed out to go to her job at one of her father’s publications. She had worked hard not to be seen as having been given the position because of who she was, starting at the bottom, making her way up the ranks, doing the hours, winning the respect of colleagues. She prided herself at being the first one in and the last to leave, making sure others knew she was serious, that this wasn’t some frivolous whim on her part, that she could be depended on to pull her weight, get the job done, get it done well. 

Heading to her office, closing the door, she waited for Nicole to reply to her facetime request, a flutter in her stomach on seeing Nicole’s face. “Hey, where are you?” Nicole asked, moving to the bed.

“Office. I don’t think father wanted me to be here, but he can’t keep me locked up forever.”

“You’ll need to grow your hair longer.”

“Would you like that?”

Nicole laughed. “Rapunzel.”

“Oh…I thought.”

“No, I like your hair, especially when it brushes against me.”

“Don’t. I’m still horny from last night. So hot Haught.”

“There’s more where that came from. Yours was hot too. So hot. When you did that-”

“Nicole! Don’t, I have work to do. I’ll never be able to concentrate.”

“And, when you said my name.”

“I’m warning you. I’ll have to hang up and go take a shower. Two showers.”

“Wish I could see that. Water trickling down-”

“That’s it. I’m definitely going. How long will you be away?”

“Another day, or so. I’m not sure. I’ll call when I get back. We could take those showers-”

“Nicole! Oh God, I’m so turned on right now. You’re very naughty.”

“I intend to be even naught…hold on, I’ve another call. Love you.”

J was the other call, giving her a full briefing on her forthcoming meeting with Cleo Clanton later that day. She was to pretend to be a rich heiress in search of new investment opportunities, Clanton Capital recommended to her by one of her father’s business associates. Her backstory had been carefully constructed so as not to raise suspicion, knowing one false move on the part of MI6 would expose the lie, potentially putting Nicole’s life at risk as well as the whole mission. They had failed once to snare the Widow, which meant they needed to get it right this time.

Nicole was used to pretending to be someone else, her confidence, her easy manner and her charm allowing her to blend in where others less well-trained might give the game away by a side look, or a nervous twitch, or any of the micro movements which reveal a person isn’t telling the whole truth about who they are.

Dressed in a mid-blue Stella McCartney suit and matching pumps, an Aspinal padfolio completed her outfit, having been sent ahead by J to the hotel. It contained fake business cards, a brochure to a non-existent company and a USB stick with which to gain access to Clanton Capital’s private files. A simple trick, Nicole pretending to have forgotten an important document, asking a receptionist to print a copy, inserting J’s USB stick into the computer to allow him remote access. It shouldn’t work, not in the modern era, but it invariably did. Even with criminals.

With the printed document in her folder, with the USB stick back in her possession, Nicole and Xavier waited in the Board Room for Cleo’s arrival. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said, on entering, holding out her hand to greet Nicole. “Has my assistant provided refreshments?”

“Thank you, yes,” Nicole replied. “I wouldn’t normally make such a short-notice appointment, but I was in the city and thought it best we meet in person.”

“I’m glad you did. It’s so much nicer putting a face to a name. I believe you already know of our services.”

“I do. Lord Bentinck.”

Cleo quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t believe he’s one of our clients.”

“James,” Nicole added, knowing this was all part of the name-dropping game. “I was at Cambridge with his older brother. Normally wouldn’t take such recommendations, but I trust James.”

“He has a small portfolio with us. Your assistant didn’t reveal the level you wish to invest.”

“I would prefer to dip my toe in the water,” Nicole replied, watching for Cleo’s response, spotting her eyes go to her chest. “I like to be enticed.”

“I’m sure we can accommodate your wishes.”

Xavier retched. “Sorry. Something I must have eaten. Where's the bathroom?”

Cleo moved her gaze from Nicole’s assets to the gentleman in her presence who looked like he was about to throw up. She was right. No sooner had her eyes landed on Xavier when he vomited over the table, courtesy of one of J’s puke pills. Cleo let out a gasp as the contents of Xavier’s stomach left his body, rushing from the room to get an assistant, holding her nose.

“What I have to do for this job,” Xavier groaned, as he felt another wave of nausea hit him. “Continental breakfast twice, my favourite.”

“Do you need water?” Nicole asked.

“Nope. Makes it worse. Hold on, incoming,” Xavier announced, sending another wave across the table, gripping his stomach. “That should do it. Now your turn.”

Nicole rose, picking up her folder, leaving the room, Cleo was outside instructing her assistant to help. Nicole apologised for her companion, asking where the restroom was, the frazzled assistant pointing down the corridor. Entering she checked for other occupants, finding it empty, locking the cubicle door, calling J. “Operation Overdesk in progress.”

“You know I had to argue with M for you not to take the pill.”

“She hates me doesn’t she?”

“Hate would be too strong a word. Loathe, detest, abhor.”

“Yes, yes, très amusant. Sorry, sehr amüsant. Forgot which country I was in. Speaking of which, are you in?”

“I believe I am. Their firewall is heavily guarded, but I’ve managed to break through. I should be able to get to the juicy stuff. Are you able to get onto Cleo’s computer?”

“Unlikely. We’re hot. I could try, but I think we’re done here. Xavier excelled himself on the carrots.”

“I did not need to that. If you can, I need you to plant a clean-up code to let me roam freely.”

“I’ll do my best. Can’t promise. Better go. Puke to clean up.”

“Spy life is the high life OOH.”

“That’s so not you J.”

Nicole exited the restroom, the assistant’s desk now abandoned, no one around in the corridor. She knew where Cleo’s office was located, two floors above, pressing the button for the elevator, pretending to be reading something in her folder as she waited for it to arrive. Another person was in the elevator as the doors opened, eyeing Nicole as she entered, Nicole nodding. Cleo’s office was unlocked, Nicole quickly donning disposable gloves to enter, scanning the room. 

Money and entitlement had a certain feel to it, one Nicole was more than used to given her own privileged background. Officers like her, British spies for want of a better term, were chosen from the elite of society. It had always been the way, maybe less so now, although breeding helped open the door to such a career, as did going to the right university. Those considered to be the most trustworthy to the nation and its government, those who through their web-like connections to others were well-positioned in British society, those who had ‘made it’ in the eyes of those who held power, those considered eligible to carry out her Majesty’s instructions. Had Nicole not been as well-connected she may never have been tapped on the shoulder to join MI6’s elite force. It went all the way back to Bletchley Park, to WWII, to British sovereignty, to that ‘do or die’ attitude which was ingrained in the very heart of Britain’s aristocracy.

Nicole spied Cleo’s computer, admiring the view from her office window, quickly typing in J’s code. She waited for it to launch, knowing she had but seconds for the system to recognise her input and let J go play.

J’s familiar pirate motif appeared on the screen to tell her she was in. Game on.


	6. Business

Nicole returned to the Boardroom to find two cleaners and Cleo’s assistant attempting to mop up after Xavier. Spotting Nicole looking for her boss, the flustered assistant directed her to an adjacent meeting room, Xavier still apologising for having emptied his stomach over the table. Twice. He too was a good liar, Cleo smiling, although Nicole could tell she was not best pleased with how their first meeting was going. 

Nicole opened her folder, extracting a business card and the fake corporate brochure to leave behind, holding out her hand. “Perhaps it's best I take my accountant back to the hotel to rest. Thank you again for your time.”

“Perhaps we could meet for drinks,” Cleo suggested. “Where are you staying?”

“The Jumeirah,” Nicole replied, smiling. “Sadly, I fly out in a few hours. Another time perhaps.”

“I look forward to it.”

Xavier appeared to have recovered by the time they reached their hotel, the pair packing their bags ready for the short flight home. In the past she might have stayed longer for that drink with Cleo, explore whether there were any in-roads to her business affairs, the same way she ingratiated herself with the Widow, turning on the charm, flirting enough to whet another’s appetite. She had no interest in either, other than what they could give her. 

It wasn’t a case of someone like the Widow revealing everything to her simply because she was drop-dead gorgeous, it was more a case of observing and listening, getting a feel for a target. Nicole had yet to decide on Cleo. She would need to see what J could tease out of the company’s computer system, see how dirty Clanton Capital was under its pristine surface. Given Bobo had offered its name there was every reason to believe this company was very dirty indeed. He only ever dealt with those as filthy as himself, those who chose not to ask questions on where money came from, so long as it moved in their direction. 

The traffic was busy out of Heathrow, Nicole accepting a lift from Xavier into London, dropping her outside her house. The first thing she did was ring Waverly, pouring herself a large whiskey while waiting to hear her voice. “I’m home honey.”

Waverly’s squeal of delight was a welcome sound. “I’ve a few things to finish off here. Father’s at some charity event this evening. How do I get rid of my bodyguard?”

“I could shoot them if you like.”

“Don’t. I need to pack a bag before I come over.”

“That’s rather forward of you Miss Earp,” Nicole replied, lifting the glass to her lips.

“No, sorry. I just thought.”

“Of course you can. I could ask the bodyguard to come for you in the morning.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Waverly! You’re getting as bad as me. How long will you be?”

“All night.”

“I’m shocked. Hurry, I’m about to take a shower.”

“Can you wait? I’d like to, with you.”

Nicole checked the fridge, balancing her phone on her shoulder. “Two bottles of champagne. I’ll need to get us something to eat. No, no, don’t say it.”

Waverly giggled. “This is like old times.”

“Me having nothing to eat and a fridge stocked with vintage champagne. Pretty much. I missed you.”

“Missed you too. What did I ever see in Perry?”

“Have you told him?”

Waverly paused. “Not yet. I was going to. I think it should be in person.”

“He’s not going to be happy, especially after missing out on all those promotions.”

“That’s naughty. You know it was only one promotion. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

“Do I order, or would you like to eat out somewhere?”

“Best order. If father finds out I’m not where I’m supposed to be with my bodyguard he’ll blow his top if I was in a restaurant too.”

“Chinese. I remember all your favourite dishes.”

Nicole was desperate to take a shower, deciding to wait if it meant Waverly would join her. Flicking through her phone she found a menu, ordering everything she knew Waverly liked. Even after all these years apart there were things about Waverly she could easily recall, such as her preference for sweet and sour soup with a spoonful of peanut butter, and vegetable chow mein. Checking her cupboard she made a mental note to restock, unable to find anything in date, or a jar of peanut butter, smooth, not crunchy, preferably organic. It had been a long time since she had entertained anyone at home, invariably eating out, alone, sometimes accompanied by a good book, sometimes simply taking in other people's lives.

Heading to the small Waitrose supermarket on the high street, two bags of shopping later, she made it back to her house just as her phone buzzed. J had an update on Clanton Capital, asking her to call. “What have you found?” she asked, placing items on shelves and in cupboards as she spoke.

“Offshore accounts in Belize and Singapore. Surprised not to see Hong Kong, but I’m still going through all the records.”

“The Widow. Any news on her?”

“I believe I’ve found her accounts. They tally with sums requested in ransoms.”

“Where is she?”

“Communications suggest Switzerland, where her accounts are held. I should be able to track her, once I’ve decoded them.”

“Anything on who she’s working for?”

“Only a name. Joshua. That’s come up a few times. Wanting to keep Joshua happy.”

“Any idea who this Joshua is?”

“Not yet. I’m running it through our database of known criminals. Guessing it’s a code name of some sort.”

“Have we got enough to get the Widow?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it. M is pleased, for once.”

Nicole’s phone buzzed. Waverly was on her way. “Got to go. I’ll swing by the office tomorrow. You can fill me in.”

Waverly stood outside the front door having rung the bell once, the first time setting foot inside Nicole’s home. Their previous liaisons had been in their university rooms, spare rooms in friend’s houses, Waverly's ancestral home Great Chalfield Manor, or Nicole’s first flat in London. She liked it already without having seen inside, its location in Wellington Square ideal for shopping on the King’s Road in Chelsea. Her bodyguard, courtesy of the British government, waited in the car, eyes scanning the street for movement. Nicole opened the door, her eyes betraying how much she wanted Waverly back in her life, the bodyguard shouting from the passenger car window. “You’ll cost me my job. How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” Nicole replied. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem. Don’t get into trouble.”

They watched as the car drove away, Nicole taking Waverly’s hand, leading her to the first floor. “Home sweet home.”

“Very impressive. I’d heard you were here. You know Charlotte lives a few roads away.”

“I do. Was she the one who told you I was here?”

Waverly nodded. “I may have driven past, once or twice.”

“Oh really. I’ll give you a tour later. I could do with that shower before we eat.”

She saw Waverly visibly shiver. “It still feels strange being back together. After all these years.”

“All it took was…anyway, I’ve got a delivery coming, so we’d better make a start.”

“I haven’t told father.”

“There’ll be helicopters swooping down once he knows. You’d better send him a text.”

“I’m a big girl. It’s so unfair.”

“It’s for your protection. I’m hoping J will get to the bottom of why.”

Waverly’s hands found Nicole’s ass, pulling her nearer. “This bottom. God, you’re so toned. I’m jealous.”

Nicole reciprocated, inching up Waverly’s mini skirt with her fingers until she felt bare skin and another shiver through Waverly’s body. “Your video drove me wild. I need you to do that again.”

“If you’re good, I might.”

“What if I’m very good?” Nicole replied, winking.

The doorbell sounded, Waverly jumping, Nicole releasing her hands from where they were caressing flesh, pulling Waverly nearer with her arms. She could feel Waverly shaking. “Sorry, sorry, just a little anxious, after…”

“Oh, God, Waverly, I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me.”

“No, no, I should have listened to Nigel. He had his suspicions.”

The doorbell rang again. “I’d better get that. You okay here?”

“Go. I’m fine.”

Waverly took in the room as she waited. High ceilings, limited furniture, an oil painting of a large house she didn’t recognise. Nicole returned with a white carrier bag, the smell of Chinese wafting from it, Waverly suddenly feeling hungry. “I’ll put this in the kitchen. Bathroom is on the next floor.”

Waverly made her way upstairs, an overnight bag in her hand, not sure which door was to the bathroom. Opening the first she came across Nicole’s bedroom, tidier than her previous flat, or her student room at Oxford. She spotted Marmaduke on her bed, the teddy bear she gave Nicole when they were first dating, a lump in her throat as she realised Nicole must sleep with him when home. Dropping her bag on the floor, her hand brushed against the duvet, a sense of finally coming home hitting her. 

She would be the first to admit her regret at breaking up, although still believed she had had good reason at the time. It was partly her parents, mostly her father, who felt Nicole’s chosen career would not be suitable, or safe, for their daughter. They were right in a way, clearly proven by the abduction, although even Waverly was beginning to question how she had become caught up in the dangerous side of Nicole’s life given they had stopped dating years previously. 

In all the time they were apart up until that fateful moment of her abduction, she never once felt threatened at having dated a spy. Nigel, her bodyguard, doubled as a driver for practical reasons, his employment more at the insistence of her father who could be said to be overprotective of his youngest. In his defence he had lost one daughter and was not prepared to lose another. Wynonna took it in her stride, doing her own thing, marrying as soon as she could to get away from her father’s clutches. She would roll her eyes at family gatherings if her father so much as hinted at getting her ‘a driver,’ his code for protection. “I have Doc,” she would remind him. "He's good with a knife."

Nicole placed her hands round Waverly’s waist. “We can eat first if you prefer.”

“I was a fool to let you go.”

“I was a fool not to have chased after you.”

“I want us,” Waverly replied, unable to think of anything more profound.

“I want us too. Let’s go have that shower.”

The evening was idyllic, both relaxing in each other’s company, the years they were apart swept away. Waverly curled up on the couch, wrapped only in Nicole's bathrobe, finishing her second bowl of food. Nicole retrieved a tub of ice cream from the freezer, another of Waverly’s favourite, scooping a decent amount into two bowls. Placing one before Waverly, she was about to tuck into hers when her phone buzzed, J asking her to call.

“What’s up?” she asked, licking her spoon.

“I’ve found another layer of accounts in Clanton Capital. I need you to come take a look.”

“I’ll drop by tomorrow.”

“Now would be preferable.”

“I’m tied up at the moment.”

“Is Waverly with you?”

Nicole laughed. “Yes, very witty. As a matter of fact she is.”

“I really think you should see this. Sooner, rather than later.”

“I can’t leave her.”

“Is that J?” Waverly asked, putting down her unfinished Chinese, picking up her bowl of ice cream.

“He needs me to pop into the office.”

Waverly tensed. “I’ll be alright. You go.”

“I’m not leaving you here on your own.”

“If you need to go.”

“Why is it so important?” Nicole asked J, picking up Waverly’s body language. “Can’t it wait?”

“There are money movements you need to see.”

“Okay, okay. Give me half an hour.”


	7. Building

“I’m not leaving you here,” Nicole insisted. “No argument. You either come with me, or I take you home.”

“Honestly, I’ll be fine. I can look after myself. I don't need babysitting.”

“Nope. If it means throwing you over my shoulder with you still wearing that bathrobe I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Try,” Waverly teased, putting down her bowl of ice cream. 

The next moment she was being carried in a fireman’s lift out of the room. “Entirely your choice on the clothes.”

“Okay, okay, put me down. I’ll come with you. You’re worse than father.”

Nicole deposited Waverly in the hall, arms folded, deliberately creasing her forehead. “Five minutes, go get changed.”

“Yes sir,” Waverly replied, saluting, earning a slap on the backside as she headed towards the bedroom. “Don’t, or we’ll never leave here. Would you like to watch?”

Nicole remained at the foot of the stairs, knowing Waverly was right they would never get out of the house if she was privy to her dropping the bathrobe. Four minutes later Waverly was back in the hall collecting her coat, Nicole fitting her Glock 17 into her holster, Waverly’s eyes remaining on it. “You okay?” Nicole said, sensing Waverly was uncomfortable.

“What’s it like?”

“Pretty straightforward. I can take you to the range, show you how to fire it.”

“No. I mean…”

“Using it.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Part of the job.”

“The first time you-”

“We’ll be late,” Nicole replied, grabbing her coat.

Waverly knew better than to press Nicole on that part of her job. She had held a gun only once, a pheasant shoot on the sprawling estate of a friend, a short distance from her family home, even though such an event was not her thing. She never managed to fire the gun, ending up crying on seeing so many birds killed, her friends consoling her over lunch promising never to take her again. The brutality stayed with her. Seeing Nicole prise a machine gun from the hands of a dead man had been worse than having the Widow point a handgun at her. The act of killing another as opposed to being killed something she never thought she would have to consider. 

Nicole reversed the E-type out of the garage, Waverly hopping in, still quiet, still processing her feelings on whether it was worse to kill or be killed, Nicole taking her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Waverly smiled, as much to reassure herself as Nicole. “Will they let me in?”

“I’ve asked J to have a pass ready. It’s against rules, but I’m sure they’ll make an exception.”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Nicole snorted. “Trust me, I’m not known for being Little Miss Rule Follower.”

Their short car journey to the MI6 building took them alongside the River Thames, the engine roar from Nicole’s Jaguar echoing in the quiet of the night. Turning right onto Vauxhall Bridge the imposing beige and green building came into view, Waverly’s hands clasped together on her lap, shoulders pinned to the back of her seat. “It’s big,” was all she could think to say.

“Big and scary. You get used to it. J’s workshop is worth a visit.”

Their car swept through the side gates into the underground car park, Nicole pulling up in one of the slots reserved for elite agents, waiting for Waverly to exit. Taking the elevator to the ground floor, Nicole flashed her ID at the guards on duty who watched her as she deposited her firearm in a tray, hands resting on their Heckler and Koch machine guns, Waverly now wishing Nicole had let her stay in her house, their armed presence menacing.

The duty officer eyed Waverly, checking his list of persons permitted to enter, asking for a form of ID. Waverly handed over her driver's licence, the officer reading the details, handing it back. “She’s not cleared."

“She is,” Nicole insisted. “Check with the quartermaster.”

The officer huffed, dialing J’s extension, nodding at whatever he was being told. “She can pass,” he said, not best pleased with the situation.

“None shall pass,” Waverly whispered in the elevator to J’s floor.

“Shush. He was a bit of a jobsworth. Mind you, we are talking one of the most secure buildings in London.”

“He asked for my driving licence.”

“Probably bored. Although, you could be an international criminal with a really cute photo.”

J greeted them at the elevator. “You’ll get me fired OOH.”

“Sorry,” Waverly said. “I did say I would be fine, but she insisted.”

“Did I put the ice cream back in the freezer?”

“What flavour?” J asked. “I’m craving it at the moment. On a diet.”

“Vegan coconut,” Waverly offered.

“Good choice. I wonder if I could have some delivered.”

“You see,” Nicole said. “This is what I have to contend with as a British agent. Anyone want to know my favourite flavour?”

Waverly patted Nicole on the ass. “Rum and raisin.”

Nicole turned, whispering something in Waverly’s ear, earning a gasp. J escorted them to his office, a modest goldfish bowl positioned in one corner of a large open-plan space which held row, upon row of computers. “This is where the cyber war is waged,” he said, more for Waverly’s benefit. “It takes up most of our time these days.”

“Wait till you see his playroom,” Nicole added.

“Waverly, would you mind waiting in the breakout area,” J suggested. “This won’t take long. Then I’ll give you a tour of my playroom.”

A hot chocolate in her hand from the vending machine, Waverly was left to entertain herself, while Nicole and J discussed what he had found within the Clanton computing system. “This is what I wanted to show you,” J began, typing in a series of instructions, waiting for his computer to respond. “We’re not just talking individual accounts, we’re talking whole governments.”

Nicole watched as row after row of bank accounts scrolled down the screen. “I’m not following.”

“This is bigger than the Widow. So much bigger.”

“We know that. Joshua.”

J shook his head. “I don’t think even Bobo knows how big this is. He’s plankton compared to this haul.”

“Okay, still not following.”

“God’s new banker.”

“Nope. Nothing. Nada.”

“Roberto Calvi, murdered not far from here. So called God’s first banker, supposedly killed by a secret organisation buried deep within the mafia. An organisation responsible for countless crimes, including bankrupting the Vatican's own bank." 

Nicole took a moment to process the information. “So, we're talking big.”

“Correct. As in shadow government big. This secret organisation was so big it included journalists, members of parliament, and military leaders. The Prime Minister of Italy was even a member, as were the heads of all three Italian intelligence services.”

Fuck. You said was.

"The organisation vanished after Calvi's death and the Vatican bank scandal." 

“Have you told M?”

“Not yet. I wanted to get your thoughts on this. My guess is whatever this Joshua is it’s collecting rogue players such as the Black Widow to create chaos for its own ends.”

“Why Clanton Capital?”

J shrugged. “Connections, convenience, no moral compass. I’m guessing it’s just one of a number of banks involved.”

“And you had never heard of this Joshua until now.”

“Never. That’s the worrying part. He, they should have shown up. We got lucky with your hit. That too worries me.”

“Why?”

“This is world order changing information. On a scale I’ve not seen before.”

A tour of J’s labs, a play with some of the gadgets he was working on, the pair departed for Chelsea gone midnight. The roads were fairly empty, Waverly closing her eyes as they headed home. Nicole shook her gently as she pulled up outside the house, handing her the key. “We’re home. You go in, I’ll park the car.”

Nicole entered a few minutes later, Waverly was busy clearing away the food left out. “I’m sorry about tonight,” Nicole said. “We can do that in the morning. We’re both tired.”

“Thank you,” Waverly replied.

“For what?”

“For letting me into your life.”

Nicole took the bowls from Waverly. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

“The hot chocolate was a little watery.”

“I'll make sure to file a complaint. Waves, you’ve got work tomorrow, come to bed. It’s late.”

Snuggled together, the troubles of the world paused for one night, they slept peacefully, Nicole having learnt not to carry the burden of information in her possession. Some things were simply too big for her to worry about and if J was right, an organisation which went by the name of Joshua was too big for her to handle on her own. She would do her part, which she hoped included taking down the Widow. That was all that mattered.

Nicole woke to Waverly muttering in her sleep. “You can’t do this. Please, she’s all I have. Shoot me instead.”

“Waves,” Nicole whispered. “It’s a bad dream.”

Waverly pulled her body away. “You can’t take her from me. I won’t let you.”

“Hey, I’m here. It’s okay.”

Waverly sat up, looking around, unsure of where she was. “Got to get out. Not safe.”

Nicole reached over to touch her back, Waverly's body freezing at the touch of another, trying to work out where she was. “Waves, it’s me. You’re safe.”

“Sorry, sorry. I…I was in the room. She had a gun. You were...”

“We’re here. We got out.”

Waverly gripped the edge of the bed. “I keep seeing her.”

“I promise I’ll get her.”

“What if you don’t? What if she comes after me again?”

“She won’t and I will get her. Lay down, you’ll be exhausted.”

Waverly hesitated, still in a heightened state of anxiety. She wanted to believe Nicole, wanted the bad people not to be able to take her again. A primal fear, not sure if she was safe anymore. Lying down she let Nicole stroke her back, listening to her soothing words telling her she had nothing to fear, as one might soothe a child who had awoken believing there were monsters under the bed, or in the cupboard, or in the shadows. Except, there really were monsters in the shadows and Nicole would need to deal with them.

As Nicole’s fingers played along her spine her anxieties eased, her mind, or rather her body reacting in the way it always did when lying naked next to her lover. Another primal urge took over, turning onto the back, her eyes finding Nicole’s, telling her without words what she wanted in that moment. Nicole’s fingers found her, as did her lips, sending ripples through her body to the point within minutes she was begging her not to stop, a wave hitting her with full force as her back arched off the bed, calling out Nicole’s name as she rode out the aftereffects, her body pulsing around her lover.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling Nicole to her, lips on lips.

Nicole backed away a little, enough to be able to speak. “Are you okay?”

“It’s too real sometimes. I can’t get that image out of my head.”

“Which?” Nicole asked, smoothing Waverly’s hair.

“You. That room. I prayed you were still alive.”

“Have you seen anyone?”

“You mean a therapist.”

“You might need to speak to someone. You’re probably suffering after what you saw. You’re not trained for those situations.”

“I will. I have you.”

Nicole sat up. “Waverly, I’m not equipped. I barely get through this myself.”

“No, I don’t mean. Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just saying what you saw, what you experienced robs you of something I can’t give back to you.”

Waverly turned away, terrified Nicole was about to end what they had. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

“Oh God, Waverly, I’m sorry. Tell me what you need. Tell me. I’ll give the world for your happiness.”

Waverly brought a hand to her cheek, wiping away the liquid now leaking from her eye. “You. I need you. Hold me.”

Nicole eased her body in behind Waverly’s. “Till the world stops turning I’ll be here for you.”


	8. Bear

As Waverly’s body relaxed into her arms Nicole fell asleep once more. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t worried about Waverly and the toll the abduction was taking on her peace of mind. Her own training to be an intelligence officer included abduction situations, a necessary exercise and one MI6 sometimes used to their advantage in snaring a target. Even then, the uncertainty as to what might happen in such an extreme scenario would often play on Nicole’s mind. The fear of not being rescued, the fear of a rescue going wrong, the fear of being held somewhere against her will, invariably restrained, not something she relished, yet accepted as part of the job she had to do.

As the sun rose she left Waverly asleep in bed, her body clock still adjusting to having moved through different time zones in only a few days. Leaving a hastily scribbled note on the kitchen island she headed out for her regular run, the roads quiet that time of day. The route took her along the King’s Road, turning south towards the river, the unmistakable smell of rain hanging in the air from an overnight shower, the pavements still shiny in places. The movement of boats along the Thames, going about their daily business, reassured her this world, the world of the everyday, the world where others lived beyond espionage, carried on regardless. 

Entering the house, removing her trainers, she headed to the kitchen, the clock on the wall telling her it was a little after six. Unsure when Waverly needed to be up, assuming she would have set an alarm on her phone, she made a fresh brew of coffee, taking it to her office on the ground floor, working through emails and other correspondence, the time ticking away. 

The grandfather clock in the hall struck seven, one of a number of antiques passed down through her family, along with the money to buy the property in which she now lived. The oil painting of a large house in the lounge displayed her other major inheritance from her grandmother. Cassillis Castle, complete with sprawling estate, nestled on the banks of the River Doon in Scotland. Not somewhere she wanted to live, assuming Waverly would not want to either, preferring to dream of that romantic cottage in a less remote location. 

Another mug of coffee poured she noted the time, 7.15am, deciding she should check on Waverly. Remembering she liked a fruit tea in the morning, she had a mug in her hand as she entered the bedroom. Waverly wasn’t there, nor in the bathroom, Nicole’s instincts taking over, grabbing her gun from the bedside drawer, scouring the house. She was nowhere to be found, her bag gone, all traces of her gone. The bed was made, as though she had never been there, and Marmaduke was missing. 

Her training kicked in, checking windows and doors for forced entry, checking all rooms in case she missed something. It was only when she returned to the kitchen she spotted Waverly’s writing under her own, saying she had a meeting to attend in the office and would call later. She called Waverly’s number, it going to voicemail, panicking the handwritten message might have been left under duress.

She had to know for certain where she was, calling Waverly’s office. An assistant answered telling her Miss Earp was in a meeting, Nicole insisting she go check. “I’ve just brought in coffee,” the assistant replied. “Miss Earp is there. Can I give her a message?”

Nicole exhaled, the muscles in her body relaxing. “If you could ask her where Marmaduke is.”

Returning to her desk, her coffee now cold, she realised it wasn’t only Waverly who was experiencing the aftereffects of the Widow’s handy work. Her phone rang ten minutes later, Waverly apologising for leaving without saying goodbye, telling her Marmaduke was under the covers on her side of the bed. Nicole’s relaxed tone hid her annoyance, not at hiding her teddy, but leaving without her knowing. It went against her training and her instincts. 

Rule number one, never go against your gut, if it feels wrong it is. Number two, never look behind, you’re never completely alone. Three, know your cover story inside out, never deviate. Four, know your target and their terrain. Five, you pick the time and place. Six, always have a Plan B. Seven, everyone views the world through their own reality, use it to your advantage.

Being an intelligence officer for the British government was all about control. Controlling information, controlling people, controlling situations, controlling emotions. Waverly’s absence from the house on her return meant she had lost control of the situation, even though in this instance there was no reason to be concerned.

Her phone buzzed, a message from M’s assistant to say her presence was required. Changing her clothes she made the journey once more in her Jag, parking where she had the night before with Waverly, taking the lift to the sixth floor. A group of suited and booted MI6 employees and British Government personnel sat around the elongated table in M’s meeting room, Nicole spotting the Prime Minister in the seat to the right of M. 

She took the last remaining seat at the opposite end of the table next to J. “What’s going on?” she whispered, as an assistant handed out several sheets of paper.

“Strategy meeting on JOSHUA,” J replied. “I’ve still tons of work to do on it.”

M was now speaking, thanking everyone for attending, thanking the Prime Minister in particular for making a space in her extremely busy schedule to be in the meeting. The Prime Minister nodded, her face already betraying a desire for this to be short, sharp, and to the point. She needed to be back in the House of Commons within an hour, having only taken the request for the meeting at the insistence of M.

“We have uncovered a network of funds,” M began, looking in J’s direction. “It suggests an organised syndicate of individuals working on behalf of governments around the world.”

“And your point is,” the Prime Minister interrupted.

“My point is,” M replied, smiling, the first time Nicole had seen her smile in a meeting of this importance. “We believe we have the intelligence to go after those who seek to undermine the power of our nation.”

“You’re saying the United Kingdom is involved in this Joseph group,” the Prime Minister qualified.

“Joshua. And yes, we believe there are individuals within the United Kingdom who are aligned with bringing about a new ruling state. One that could threaten the Monarchy.”

The Prime Minister put down her pen, adjusting the glasses on her face. “Let me get this straight. You believe, or have reason to believe the British Monarchy is being directly targeted by this Joseph person.”

“Joshua,” M repeated. “An acronym, as far as we can discern presently. A group of influential players from a number of countries seeking to tilt the playing field in their favour. We have not, as yet, ascertained how, or indeed when, they intend to enact their plan of world domination, but we believe the time for such enactment is approaching.”

The Prime Minister scanned the room. “Is this COBRA level?”

“Not yet,” M replied. “Our agents will be deployed to assess how imminent the threat is.”

“How was this not picked up?” the Prime Minister pressed. “Surely your specialists would have seen something before now.”

M shifted in her chair, knowing that question would be asked, she too wondering how something on this scale had not come to light until J stumbled across it. “Those involved were careful not to highlight their activities. A series of events drew us to this, for which we have OOH to be thankful. Her work in uncovering this nefarious operation is what brought us together today.”

The Prime Minister’s eyes scanned the assembled members, Nicole tempted to raise her hand to acknowledge her presence, deciding that would not go down well, keeping both hands on the desk. “Who is this OOH?” the Prime Minister asked.

M motioned with her head for Nicole to stand, Nicole doing so, all eyes now on her. “One of our finest officers,” M said. “Held hostage by one we suspect is linked to JOSHUA.”

The Prime Minister eyed Nicole over her glasses, who was beginning to feel like a prize on display in an amusement arcade. “You have met with Joshua?” the Prime Minister asked.

Nicole shook her head. “I have only been in contact with one of their operatives and a member of a bank through which funds are being channeled.”

“Can we defeat them?” the Prime Minister asked.

Nicole looked at M, unsure whether she should answer, M nodding. “I believe so. We are still ascertaining the full scope of JOSHUA.”

“Good, good. Well, I’ll leave it to you to brief me on progress. Good work H, good work.”

The meeting over, Nicole headed to J’s office, the banks of computers under his command now manned by those tasked with finding out as much as they could about the hidden funds lurking within Clanton Capital’s computers. “Anything?” Nicole asked, closing the door behind her. “Where’s the Widow?”

“Lucerne, Switzerland. Most recent communications point to a residence overlooking the lake.”

“I need details.”

J shook his head. “Not without clearance from M. She specifically asked me not to hand you the whereabouts of the Widow.”

“For Waverly, if not for me. She’s not coping with the Widow being on the loose.”

“If I do, I will lose my job and you’ll end up in a prison cell for the rest of your life.”

Nicole contemplated pinning J’s body to the desk in a neck hold, deciding she needed him on her side. “I won’t forget this,” she said, leaving his office. 

As she walked towards the elevator M’s assistant appeared. “M would like to speak with you.”

“I bet she does,” Nicole replied. “I’m her favourite.”

The assistant blushed. “She’s a little annoyed right now. Don’t make her worse.”

Nicole winked. “As if I would. Lead the way.”

M’s door was closed, a sign she was on the phone to someone important enough for no one else to hear the conversation. M’s assistant hovered by the door, checking every so often through the small pane of glass to one side whether her boss had finished her conversation. As soon as she had she knocked, waiting for M to tell whoever was waiting to come in. 

On seeing Nicole her face returned to its familiar neutral position, tapping her pen on the desk. “The Prime Minister is pleased with you.”

“Glad to hear.”

“I, however, am not. Waverly Earp.”

Nicole waited for the chewing out she was about to receive, knowing she had broken rules by bringing Waverly into the building. “MI6 is not a visitor attraction,” M began, her voice maintaining its headmistress tone. “We do not bring those who are not cleared onto the premises.”

Nicole knew better than to justify her actions, standing before M’s desk, waiting for whatever else she was about to be reprimanded. “You might think you are entitled to break the rules, but you are not. You put everyone at risk by your actions.” Nicole remained silent. “There are reasons for rules.”

“She’s not coping with her abduction,” Nicole offered.

M took a moment. “We’ve recommended a therapist trained in hostage situations.”

“I request permission to go after the Widow.”

M placed her pen down, spreading her fingers wide, staring momentarily at her wedding ring. “You do not make the rules. JOSHUA is now my priority. Request denied.”

“She can lead us to JOSHUA.”

“You’re due leave,” M replied. “May I recommend you take two weeks, starting from now.”


	9. Breaking

Nicole let the words sink in. Never before had M questioned her loyalty to the job, yet here she was being forced to stand down from an assignment, one she wanted, no needed for her own peace of mind, as much as Waverly’s. It rubbed against her ego and her sense of professionalism, not that she would ever admit to thinking it a good idea to force information out of J on the Widow’s whereabouts. All she could hope was the mission to capture the Widow and bring down JOSHUA would still be active by the time she returned. Highly probable, given the challenges involved in doing both. 

Turning to leave M had one final message. “This isn’t personal OOH. There will be other battles. This one is not yours.”

“I need…” Nicole replied, stopping herself before she gave away her desire to rip the arms and legs from the Widow and watch her bleed to death for having dragged Waverly into her sick world. 

“I understand what she means to you. The Widow. But, this needs careful handling.”

The roads were busy as Nicole returned to her house, not that it mattered, giving her time to absorb her enforced holiday, wondering whether Waverly could join her. As she placed her key in the front door her phone buzzed, her father, unusual in that she hadn’t spoken to him in months. Never one for using lots of words his message simply read: Cassillis Castle. Possible buyer.

The property had been on the market for some years, in need of refurbishment, not a project Nicole wanted to take on. Knowing better than to call her father, she rang her mother, glad to hear her voice. “What’s this about the house?”

“Your father’s been approached by someone who’s interested. It would be a weight off your shoulders. I know you hate the place.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You love London. How’s the job?”

“Good. Waverly and I-”

“Really! After all these years. How is she?”

“Good. Early days.”

“I’ll be in London next week. Perhaps we could do lunch, the three of us.”

“I’m on leave,” Nicole replied. “I’ll check if we’re around. Do I need go visit the old pile?”

“The agents have the keys. Entirely up to you.”

“Do you know who the buyer is?” Nicole asked.

“A woman.”

Nicole’s gut kicked in. The property had languished unsold for years, failing to find anyone brave enough, read rich enough, foolish enough to take on the management of such an estate including all its costs. “Any name?” 

“Not that I know of,” her mother replied, Nicole laughing at her mother’s response. “Has a website.”

“No name, only a website,” Nicole teased. 

“One of those sites your father likes,” her mother offered, Nicole stopping herself from making a cheeky comment about websites her father might like to frequent. “You know one of those comparison sites.”

“Okay, now I’m confused. When is she due to see the castle?”

“You’ll need to check with the agents.”

“Do you still have grandmother’s engagement ring?”

“Why?”

“Only, I may have promised it to Waverly.”

Nicole heard the audible gasp from her mother. “Oh darling, really! That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you both. I can bring it over to you if you like.”

“Keep it safe,” Nicole replied. “On second thoughts, how about Waverly and I come visit?”

“Let me know when. I’m so, so pleased for you.”

Her fingers itched to tell Waverly all her news. It had been years since there had been someone to share her life with, someone to make plans with, even to laugh with at the silly things her mother might say. Simply, to ask another how their day had gone, what they wanted to eat, where they wanted to eat. The job had taken over most of her life, sparing little time for friends and family. As the years ticked by it became more difficult to fit everyone in and be on call at a moment’s notice to go wherever she needed to go, no questions asked. 

Walling off part of her life had been equally difficult, the few who knew asking her those questions she refused to answer. Had she killed anyone? Who were the baddies? How dangerous was her job? She pushed away all these intrusions, explaining her role was purely administrative, sitting at a desk, writing reports, filing documents. Not that she would tell Waverly everything she had done in the line of duty, or would do in the future.

Except, Waverly had been forced to step inside her world, forced to see the dark side of her life, now knowing the dangers involved, now knowing there really were bad people lurking in the shadows who enjoyed bringing pain to others. In a perverse way, it was what bonded their relationship this time. They had been through an intense experience together, and survived. Nothing the world could throw at them would ever come close to what they went through individually and together in that room at the mercy of the Black Widow. At least, that was what Nicole hoped.

Heading to the stores, she spent time selecting food she knew Waverly would like, planning to surprise her with a home-cooked meal. Not that she was a great cook, knowing enough to get by, planning each course meticulously, preparing a dessert even she was pleased with. Sending a text to Waverly to ask what time she would be over, Waverly replied to say she already had a dinner date.

It hit Nicole hard. Usually able to bounce back, after M ordering her off the mission she needed Waverly’s company, hoping she could take time off and go somewhere, anywhere, just the two of them. Was she needy? Yes. Had she not told Waverly what she was doing that evening? Yes. Was it anyone’s fault? No. Their lives still needed to be knitted together, each still operating as though they were a single agent, Nicole not sure what to say in response. She went with her usual it’s fine, no problem. 

Sitting alone, eating the dessert she prepared, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for herself. About to tuck into a third helping her phone rang. “Hi, well that was less painful than I thought.” Waverly said.

“Where are you?”

“About to get in the car.”

“I found Marmaduke.”

“Can’t believe you still have him. Perry was a gentleman.”

Nicole placed her bowl on the coffee table. “Perry.”

“He’s seeing someone else.”

“Did you tell him about us?”

“Did you get an invite to Flick’s wedding?”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Perfect. You can come as my plus one.”

“Thought I was more than that.”

“You are. Is everything alright?”

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too. Crap, running out of battery. Call you.”

Nicole picked up her dessert bowl no longer sure where she stood in Waverly’s life. The morning came too soon, rain lashing against the window, Nicole reluctantly pulling on her running gear and trainers, heading out on a dismal day, without knowing where her life was headed. A passing car sent a plume of water in her direction, a man out walking his dog nearly tripped her up, the place where she usually bought an espresso and almond croissant closed for refurbishment. Life officially sucked.

Dripping rainwater in her hallway, peeling off as much as she could, she made her way upstairs to the bathroom, letting warm water wash over her body. When she emerged from the shower her phone had three new messages, all from Waverly, telling her she was missed, telling her she was loved, telling her she was free for lunch and had booked her favourite restaurant close to the office, sending her the details.

A discreet Italian near where Waverly worked, Nicole arriving in time to check out the restaurant and the area to assess any risks. As the car pulled up Nicole’s heart leapt, Waverly beaming as she emerged, dressed in a stunning red suit perfectly matched with a white shirt and heels. Seeing Nicole’s reaction she winked, saying something to the agent in the car. “Well, hello stranger.”

“Simply wow."

“You like?”

“I like. That suit is bordering on criminal. Needs to be removed.”

“Does it now,” Waverly replied, planting a kiss on Nicole’s cheek. “I have a team meeting at two, so long lunch, yay.”

Seated in the restaurant, Nicole glanced over her menu repeatedly. “That colour really suits you.”

“How do we make this work?” Waverly replied, eyes searching for a waiter.

“We order, they bring us food.”

“Don’t. I meant us. How do we make our lives work together?”

“I’ve been given leave. Two weeks. Where would you like to go?”

“I have meetings,” Waverly replied, without thinking. “I can’t just up and leave. Not after…”

“I just thought it would be good for us. It's fine, I need to sort out Cassillis anyway.”

“Cassillis?”

“My home. Someone wants to buy it.”

Waverly remained silent, avoiding Nicole's gaze, playing with the edge of her napkin.

“It's only for a few days. We can go somewhere when I get back.”

“I could rearrange,” Waverly offered, her response less than convincing.

“It's okay. Stay here.”

Waverly’s hand reached across the table. “Everything’s happening so fast.”

“You still want us?” Nicole asked.

“I just need…there’s so much. I’m sorry. Things are so hectic at the moment, what with the launch of the new publication. I could join you.”

“I won’t be gone that long.”

A waiter approached ready to take their order, Nicole opting for the seafood pasta, Waverly the vegan risotto. They sat in silence after the waiter departed, Waverly breaking off pieces from a breadstick in her hand without eating any. Nicole sensed something was playing on her mind, Waverly not usually at a loss for words unless worried. “I’ve been pushed off the mission,” she said eventually. 

Waverly looked up from the growing pile of dried bread on her side plate. “Why?”

“Too close. Too much of a risk.”

“They’re letting her go.”

“She’ll be caught. She’s too important to let slip through the net.”

“She said I was the Queen of Hearts.”

“You are. You have my heart.”

“I just want to feel safe again. I keep looking over my shoulder wondering if a stranger is one of hers, if she might appear.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Waverly put down the half demolished stick. “I didn’t know. What you did, with…the noise. And, their eyes. I keep seeing their eyes.”

“We’re trained, remember.”

“Living like this. Doesn't it bother you?”

“Does it scare you, being with me?”

“I just want...I want normal. Is that too much to ask?”

Nicole removed the napkin from her lap, placing it on the table. “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

"Nicole please. I just need time, that's all."

"I will always be a reminder."

"No. It's not you. It's just..."

Looking at Waverly one last time, tears welling, she left the restaurant.

Packing her bag, she booked a last minute flight to Scotland, deciding anywhere but London right now would be better. It was the second time she cried over Waverly.


	10. Breakfast

Nicole held the phone away from her ear as she hurried to find somewhere in the airport where she could talk without others overhearing. “What the actual fuck?” Waverly yelled. “You left me alone in the restaurant.”

“Sorry. I needed to clear my head. Some things-”

“Sorry! Sorry! Alone Nicole. What if-”

“Not entirely alone. You had MI6 in a car outside.”

“Don’t you dare justify what you did. Why? What have I done?”

“It’s not you. I’m not good for you. You were right the first time. This job isn’t-”

“Don’t do this to me. We’re engaged. I finished with Perry because of you.”

“Good to know.”

“What is wrong with you? One moment you’re throwing your grandmother’s ring at me, next I’m an afterthought.”

“I didn’t throw the ring at you. I offered it. Clearly, it’s not what you want.”

“I haven’t seen it. I’m merely pointing out you went from hot to cold pretty fucking quick.”

“I’m sorry, okay.”

“Talk to me. Nicole, please, this isn’t like you.”

Nicole exhaled audibly. “When you left the house I thought someone had you.”

“Is that why?”

“If I’m with you…it’s like she’s stalking us.”

“Oh Nicole, are you scared you can't protect me?”

“I’m not allowed to go after her.”

“Others will. This house of yours, I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll call when I get back.”

“Which airport? For the house.”

“Can we…can we talk when I get back?”

“If you don’t tell me I’ll find out. Actually, my assistant will. You’d better pick me up, or it’ll be my father you’ll have to deal with. And, my MI6 stalker.”

“Waverly…please. Glasgow. I just need-”

Waverly ended the call before she could finish. Heading back to the departure lounge, no longer sure she was doing the right thing, her own flight was being announced, wondering whether she should simply return to London, talk through all her crazy thoughts, let them have a chance at happiness if that was still possible.

“Last call for passengers on British Airways flight 1484 to Glasgow.”

Strapped in, ready to take off, a small child in the next seat offered her a candy. Nicole accepted the sticky gift, pretending to put it in her mouth, making a chewing motion, so not in the mood to entertain anyone’s kid on the hour-long flight. Eyes closed, her thoughts returned to Waverly. She wanted to be with her, but everything was messed up, danger clinging to them like the sugary residue on dirty little hands. 

Every day the Widow was free to do whatever she pleased their lives would be nothing more than a game of keeping one step ahead of her, and whoever JOSHUA might be. Better to have the pain of not being together, she concluded, than the agony of watching the other die at the hands of an evil bitch. Never before had she had to worry what her job entailed until the moment Waverly entered the room. She could handle it, the job, whatever was thrown at her, whatever she was asked to do, except that. Seeing the terror in Waverly’s eyes as they dragged her in, having to face the real possibility of the Widow shooting the one person she loved before her own eyes, that image, that memory was eating her from the inside out and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

A quick detour to collect the keys from the property agents, she drove south towards Maybole in a hire car, turning left before she reached the town. Sweeping in through electric gates to the estate, she followed the River Doon along the private road to her own castle. History and hollowness greeted her as she entered her ancestral home, still not sure whether she liked the place. It lacked a sense of belonging, a sense she was meant to be there. 

With no family to call her own, with the prospects of making a life with Waverly potentially scuppered by her own actions, she had no need of a property on such a grand scale. Most of her aunt’s furniture had been removed, the castle now but an empty shell, a shadow of its former glory, the only habitable living quarters to be found in the coach house which came with the estate, and a small gardener’s cottage tucked away behind the walled garden. 

Her footsteps echoed as she took in what was still hers. The castle boasted a spiral staircase as part of the original Keep of Cassillis, built clockwise to ensure an easy defence by a right-handed swordsman. A ballroom on the top floor of the adjoining house was where Nicole wore her first and only ball gown at the insistence of her mother, baby blue with puffy sleeves, utterly wrong for her colouring, tugging at the neckline all evening. The only consolation to an otherwise dull family gathering was her first kiss stolen in the library across from the ballroom, confirming what she long knew about her preferences. 

A musty smell hit her as she opened the door to the coach house, that and an icy coldness, her first task to fire up the boiler to bring some warmth back to the place. A selection of snacks purchased at the airport she sat in the kitchen shivering, her coat pulled tight, waiting for the kettle to boil, her eyes following chalky white steam as it escaped into the room, a mug of tea warming her hands a few minutes later. 

She hadn’t expected Waverly to be able to get to the house the same day, surprised when she received her text saying she had made the evening flight, minus her government guard dog, estimated time of arrival shortly after nine. The drive back to the airport gave Nicole time to think, growing more fearful of Waverly’s tongue as the minutes ticked down to her arrival. As Waverly appeared Nicole realised she had made a terrible mistake, hugging her, telling her over and over she was sorry. 

Dragging two large cases she guided Waverly to the car park. “Staying long,” she teased, heaving them into the back of the car.

“Essentials,” Waverly replied. “Mostly food. Guessing you haven’t stocked up.”

“I did a shop. Pot Noodles.”

“You’ve never eaten Pot Noodles. Or, fast food for that matter. Unless you’ve changed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So you should be. I’m beyond mad at you right now.”

“Because I bought Pot Noodles.”

Sadness filled Waverly’s eyes, drawing nearer, resting a hand over Nicole’s heart. “Please let me in again. I know it's not your job to protect me. Just don't shut me out, okay.

For a third time Nicole found herself crying over Waverly.

The morning light entering their bedroom illuminated Waverly’s face to perfection, Nicole taking time to study the softness of her features as she slept, the cascade of her hair across the pillow, the rise and fall of her naked shoulder, her bare arm resting on top of the duvet. Nicole’s finger trailed down Waverly’s silky skin, the lightest of touch, eliciting a soft sigh. Only now did she realise how far she let the Widow take over. M was right, she needed distance from the assignment and perspective. Waverly was right too, she needed to let those who loved her back into her life, whether or not she could protect them. 

Eventually making it to the kitchen, Nicole watched as Waverly opened the larger of her suitcases, pulling out a number of carrier bags. “Not entirely sure what we’ve got,” she said, sticking her head into the first one. “Sent my assistant out for provisions, so could be anything. Told her nothing perishable. Ooh goodie, shortbread. Needs custard.”

Nicole smiled. “Didn’t you try to make a dessert with it once? Or, was that digestives?”

Waverly joined her at the kitchen table, laying out several items. “I remember you ended up wearing it on your stomach.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t going to work if you’re going to stay on this pity party of yours. So, what’s it to be?”

“Custard,” Nicole suggested, pointing to her chest. “Right here. And here.”

“Nicole! Don’t. Okay, after custard.”

Nicole met Waverly’s gaze. “I want you in my life. But…I’m scared. There, I’ve said it. An MI6 officer admitting they’re scared.”

“Oh, my love,” Waverly replied, pulling Nicole nearer. “I’m glad you are. No, that came out wrong. It’s perfectly okay to be scared. I’d be scared if you weren’t scared. No, that’s not right either. You know what I mean.”

“Would you like custard with that?”

Waverly’s fingers found Nicole’s sides, tickling until Nicole had to pull away. “So, this ring of your grandmother’s.”

“Are you sure? No obligation. Maybe it could be a reserve ring. I can have it altered.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” Waverly replied. “Like you.”

“I’ll show you around the castle after breakfast. The person viewing is due at eleven.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“Some internet entrepreneur. Estate agent said it won’t be her doing the viewing. She’s sending someone.”

Waverly resumed the task of unpacking her luggage. “You don’t think?”

“I do think.”

Waverly extracted a jar from one of the bags. “Marmalade, not a fan. Oh well. If it is her what then?”

Nicole watched as more bottles and packets appeared. “Keep you out of sight. If this turns into an ambush you need to get away from here fast.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I can’t leave you here.”

“Waves, this is my job. It’s what I do. Correction, did.”

“I know, but who looks after you?”

“Aw, that’s really sweet. You, when I’m not going bang bang, as Xav would say.”

“Xav?”

“Guy who…a friend. You know, on the island. You’ll have to meet him properly, and his wife.”

A knock on the door made Waverly jump. “Fuck! Who’s that?”

Nicole’s hand instinctively went for her gun, remembering she left it in London, placing a finger to her lips for Waverly to be quiet. Grabbing the largest knife from the drawer, concealing it behind her back, she went to see who was calling. 

“This is Ros,” she announced as they entered the kitchen. “Our families go way back.”

“Heard you were here.” 

“News travels fast. How are you?”

“Splendid,” Ros replied, her Scottish dialect accentuating the syllables. “Do you have all you need?”

“Think so,” Waverly interrupted, offering her hand. “Gosh you’re frozen. I’ll make you a tea.”

“How long are you staying?”

“A few days,” Nicole offered. “Someone’s interested in Cassillis.”

“Such a shame,” Ros said, sitting at the table. “Always hoped you would make this your home.”

“It’s a little too large for me. Not the same with all the furniture removed.”

“Aye, very true. I remember the parties.”

Waverly retrieved one last item from her luggage, a bottle of malt whiskey. “Look what I’ve found.”

“I shouldn’t,” Ros replied, removing her coat. “Go on then. Just a wee dram seeing as I’m driving.”

Waverly looked at Nicole for translation, Nicole taking the bottle from her, hunting in a cupboard for three small glasses. “How’s your mother?” she asked, pouring equal measures, handing them out.

“The same. Says she mustn’t grumble. Your good health.”

Waverly took a sip of hers coughing as it hit the back of her throat. “A little too early for me I’m afraid. Sorry, I was making you a tea.”

“No need,” Ros replied. “This will warm me up. I was on my way to work. I’ve got time if you’re heading to the house.”

“Sure,” Nicole replied. “For old times.”

As Nicole’s ancestral home came into view Waverly’s mouth fell open, her eyes taking in the imposing cream-coloured castle which stood proudly behind a magnificent sandstone house added at a later date, a small flight of stairs leading to the entrance. “It’s beautiful,” she said, taking in all its grandeur. “It’s…it’s how I imagined it would look from the painting.”

Every muscle in Nicole’s body suddenly tensed.


	11. Brunch

The Widow sat alone on the terrace of her magnificent mansion overlooking Lake Lucerne, finishing a late breakfast. As a child she had spent many happy holidays there visiting relatives, swimming in the lake, or rowing her cousins’ small boat, daring each other as to how far they could go. That she would end up on a wanted list as an international terrorist would have been unthinkable to her younger self, imagining she would become a doctor like her parents, saving lives not killing thousands. 

Like Nicole, her life was one of privilege, gaining a place at Cambridge to study medicine, her parents thrilled their only child chose to follow in their footsteps. Like Nicole, a tap on the shoulder by MI6 changed her career path, the thrill of saving the whole world outweighing any desire to save a handful of sick people. It was her calling, her destiny and she was good, very good, quickly rising through the ranks to command her own team, respected for her physical and mental agility in the face of danger. 

Things began to unravel after the breakdown of a relationship, someone in the same profession, someone who was married, someone who knew it was wrong but couldn’t help but be enthralled by the Widow’s beauty and intellect and devotion. It was never meant to happen, instant dismissal if they had been caught, both clever enough, cunning enough to know how to play the covert game. Fun at first, but as heart’s opened the Widow’s lover feared their career would be destroyed, choosing to save their career by sacrificing their heart.

A covert mission brought the Widow into contact with the one who would one day introduce her to JOSHUA. A genius with piercing blue eyes and a body Marilyn Monroe would have died for. Blue eyes took the heartbroken agent under her wing, using her charm and her sharp mind to woo the agent over to her side, convincing her the world needed to change, that they would be instrumental in that change, that they would bring salvation. 

At first the Widow resisted, her mind struggling with the poisonous diet of lies being fed to her by someone who should have been sanctioned, not running a multinational corporation worth billions. As her love for this blue-eyed beauty grew she let herself be sucked in, believing her words, believing the world needed to be cleansed, believing this was her new calling. 

Torn between remaining on the side of the British government and her lover she chose blue eyes, content to live a new life where her actions would not be held accountable to any government. And then, one fateful night it all came crashing down, blue eyes killed by her MI6 lover, the Widow vowing revenge, vowing to rip the heart out of the one she once loved who had taken everything from her with one single bullet.

⚠ ☠

Nicole handed the keys to Ros. “You go ahead, I’ll join you shortly.”

Turning, she began walking across the gravel area toward the river, her mind churning. “Nicole wait,” Waverly called out, struggling to catch up. “What’s wrong?”

“The pieces don’t fit together,” she said, as Waverly came alongside. “How did she know?”

“Who? Know what? Nicole, slow down.”

“We haven’t been together for six years. So, how did she know?”

“I never mentioned you to anyone. I promise.”

Nicole stopped suddenly, turning to face Waverly. “No, no, I’m not accusing you. You should never have been there, on that island, caught up in my life, but you were. Why?”

“I…I don’t know. I got an invite to a magazine launch, last minute. Nigel didn’t have time to do his usual security checks.”

“Who? Who sent you the invite?”

“Err, I’m not sure,” Waverly replied. “I think her name was Cleo.”

“Clanton. Was it Clanton?” Nicole pressed.

“Maybe. I can get my assistant to check if you like. All I remember is feeling dizzy, someone near me offering to take me to the restroom. That’s it. Next thing I remember is waking up on a private plane with my hands and feet bound.”

“Why?” Nicole asked, more to herself than Waverly. “Why would she go to all that trouble to get you?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like we were dating, or anything. She said I reminded her of someone. Someone she knew long ago.”

“Who? Did she say who?”

“She asked me about you. Asked if I loved you. I told her we weren’t together, but she laughed in my face. She said she had killed you and it broke me.”

“Oh God, Waverly, why didn’t you say?”

“Because…because, up to the point that bitch told me you were dead I’d convinced myself I didn’t love you, that I could let you go. But, I can’t. And yes, you scare me and this world of yours scares me even more. And, and-”

Nicole pulled Waverly towards her, not letting any more words leave her lips, locked in an embrace that stopped time. As their lips parted Nicole rushed to say what her heart, her soul and her whole being had been longing to say. “I love you. My God, Waverly I haven’t been alive since you walked out of my life. I’ve existed that’s all. Every single day I’ve been on autopilot. And, I’m terrified of losing you.”

Waverly rested her head against Nicole’s chest. “She brought us together again.”

“I’ll thank her the next time I see her.”

They found Ros in the ballroom, twirling as she hummed a tune Nicole vaguely remembered from her youth. “Remember the Ceilidh dances?” Ros asked, taking Nicole’s hand as they entered.

“I do indeed. I remember tripping over my feet.”

Ros began to dance, Nicole trying to remember the steps, Waverly laughing and clapping as she watched the pair re-enact childhood memories. Leaving them to their fun, Waverly set off to explore the rest of Nicole’s house, opening doors on grand rooms, admiring the scale and character of the building. She could easily see herself living here, perhaps running her own business, having her own organic vegetable garden. And roses, plenty of fragrant rose bushes.

Spotting Waverly’s absence, Ros took Nicole’s hand, leading her to the library, now devoid of books, heading to the alcove where the deed was done. “I’ve missed you,” she said, pulling Nicole nearer. 

Nicole backed away. “Ros, no.”

“For old times,” Ros persisted. “Just one. I’ll ask no more.”

“Ros, I’m with Waverly. We’re…we’re engaged.”

“No harm in a wee kiss. You’ll do no harm.”

“Ros, I’m sorry. We were young.”

“You told me I was pretty once.”

Nicole turned away, stopping as she was about to leave. “Ros, I’m with Waverly. She’s…”

“I understand. I’m sorry. She’s a lovely gal.”

“She is.”

Waverly had found the kitchen, in the process of checking out the Aga range as Nicole entered. “That’s an oven,” Nicole teased.

“So rude. I was about to send a photo to my assistant to ask her. Ros is lovely. So full of life.”

“She is. What do you think of it?”

“Amazing. I could live here. Seriously, it’s perfect.”

“Here? It’s miles from anywhere. What about your job?”

“What about it? I could work here as easily as London.”

“But it’s. This place, it’s not exactly cosy. It’s kind of castley, with castley bits sticking out.”

“Maybe that’s what we should call it. Castley Castle.”

“What about my house in London? I couldn’t keep both. I’d have to sell one.”

“We’d have my place. Or, father’s. Or, Wyn’s if we were ever in London. I’m serious.”

Nicole took a moment. “So, you’re saying. Are you saying you could honestly see yourself living here?”

Waverly nodded. “Honestly. This place has so much history, which is my thing. I could write a book on it, do tours, ooh open a café and sell all the vegetarian and vegan food we make. Jams, we could make jams.”

“Right. Government agent turned jam maker, obvious career progression.”

“Don’t. But seriously, do you need to sell it?”

“I don’t need to,” Nicole replied. “It’s just…this is. It’s a big place. It needs people, lots of people to bring it to life. And, there’s you and me.”

“And all the people who will come here for your delicious strawberry jam.”

Nicole shuddered. “How do you make everything sound sexy?”

Waverly winked. “My area of expertise.”

If there had been a bed left in the castle they would have made good use of it, Nicole even contemplating finding a surface with which to explore their relationship further. A call from the estate agent interrupted Nicole's musings on house humping options, letting her know the representative for the mystery buyer was on their way. With no time to lose she instructed Waverly to go with Ros to Maybole and to wait for her call. If she hadn’t made contact within three hours, Waverly was to call J and ask for help. 

Watching as Waverly drove away she couldn’t help but worry things might go south and it might be the last time she ever saw her. Returning to the coach house, quickly packing one of Waverly’s suitcases with her belongings, she hid it in a cupboard, removing all traces of a second person having spent the night. This was her life, this was how she had to live now to keep those she loved alive.

⚠ ☠

The Widow scrolled through her messages, another from Cleo Clanton confirming Nicole could indeed be the woman who visited her in Frankfurt. Tall, flame-haired, chocolate brown eyes, fitting the Widow’s description perfectly, the Widow smiling to herself at Nicole’s audacity, knowing she too would have done the same once. 

Nicole interested her. Something in her eyes, a fire, an intensity she too had known, a loyalty to a government that would use her for its own means, discarding her if no longer needed.

She wanted her. She wanted to feel her hot breath against her neck. She wanted to feel the dance of fingers across her stomach and her thighs. She wanted to be devoured by her tongue. How sweet and how delicious to have another MI6 agent under her control, and between her legs. Had she wanted to explore Nicole in the confines of that room where she held her prisoner? Hell, yes. Had she wanted to show her what real power felt like, pointing a gun at her girlfriend? Hell, yes. Would she have shot Waverly? In an instant. Nicole? Hell, no.

Obsession is such a strange bedfellow. The moment she laid eyes on M’s top female agent she knew she wanted her, knew she needed to have her body writhing with pleasure under hers, knew she needed to have those lips explore her, tease her, make her fall apart. She needed to feel alive again, feel her heart pulse again, feel part of another, feel wanted. She also wanted sweet revenge, take from another what was taken from her. 

She waited for her assistant to answer. “Where are you?”

“Driving to the estate. Should be there in ten minutes.”

“I want everything. Photos of every room. Get her on film too. I want her laugh.”

“I’ll do my best. You said be discreet, remember.”

“I'm fucking paying you, remember. Get everything you can on her. Make a fucking bid on the house if you have to. She’s mine.”

Nicole had moments to spare, running back to the castle from the coach house as a car pulled up outside. A young woman emerged from the rear of the vehicle, Nicole ready to greet her on the steps, holding out her hand, the same kitchen knife hidden under her clothing, eyes scanning for any movement by the woman’s driver, or others who might appear unannounced.

“Hi, guessing you own this place,” the woman said, her smile wide, her Australian accent broad. “Would you mind if I take a photo right here?”


	12. Busted

Nicole stood to one side to allow the woman to take the shot. “I’ll do a video too,” she said. “Can you tell me about the castle?”

Clearing her throat, Nicole provided a brief history of the house and how it came into her family’s possession. “We’ve been here, well my family have lived here for two hundred years.”

“Wow, long time,” the woman commented. “And, you live here?”

“Never lived here. I inherited it.”

“Wish I’d been given a castle. I’ll need to take shots of the grounds later.”

“We’d best get on, there’s quite a lot inside to see. The buyer, will she view?”

The woman continued filming. “Hopes to, stuck in Sydney at the moment. Big takeover going on.”

Nicole led the way, explaining what each room had been used for by previous residents, the woman asking salient questions. Reaching the ballroom the woman let out a gasp. “This is great. Your own dance studio.”

“Yep. A few parties were had up here. Holds up to fifty comfortably. Usually serve drinks in the library.”

“It’s got a library too. That’s great.”

A brisk walk to the river, Nicole pointing out other features on the estate, the woman departed saying she would relay the visit to her boss and be in contact in a few days. Watching the car pull away Nicole had her phone out. “Where are you?” 

“Sitting in Ros’s shop,” Waverly replied. “Maybole’s lovely. How did it go?”

“Still alive. Woman was charming.”

“Was she a spy?”

Nicole winced. “Waves, not so loud.”

“Oops, sorry. Was she a spy?” she whispered, hearing Nicole laugh. “Well, was she?”

“No, but my instincts tell me she’s working for that bitch. Accent gave it away.”

Waverly’s stomach tightened. “She’s found us. Oh Nicole, what do we do?”

“We stay calm. This was a scoping exercise that’s all. We’re safe, I promise.”

“What if she’s hiding? What if…”

“Waves, it’s okay. I’ll come get you.”

“Can we go? I don’t feel safe staying there another night.”

“Sure, I’ll check on flights. We could stay in Glasgow if you like.”

“Anywhere, just so long as she can’t find us. God, I wish she wasn’t out there.”

“I’ll be about half an hour. Stay with Ros.”

Ros was in the front part of the shop, tidying a shelf stacked with tins, smiling as Waverly joined her. “Nicole’s picking me up.”

“It’s a shame she’s selling,” Ros replied. “Will be sad not having her there.”

“I could see myself living here.”

“Aye, that house is full of happy memories. Nicole was a one, got me into no end of trouble.”

“What was she like? As a kid.”

“Full of life. Had to be rescued from the big tree near the house. Wanted me to climb with her, but I don’t do heights.”

“She does have a thing for climbing.” 

“We would swim in the river without anything on, us and the other kids. And, have picnics in front of the house.”

“Sounds idyllic,” Waverly replied, wondering what it would be like to swim naked in the river.

“The best part was hide and seek. We lost one boy.”

“Did you find him?”

Ros shook her head, glancing over at Waverly. “Still in the castle to this very day.”

“Really?”

“I’m pulling your leg. Found him in one of the cupboards in the kitchen. Mind it was two hours after we finished playing.”

Waverly’s expression changed to one of relief. “I can imagine it has ghosts. It feels like it should have a ghost.”

“Aye, a woman of the night. Famous.”

“Why? Why would a prostitute haunt the castle?”

“Had the eye of the sixth Earl. Story has it his wife killed her, although she was canoodling with the King of the Gypsies so who knows. Some have seen her face at a window.”

Waverly shuddered. “Hope I don’t see a face at the window.”

“She’s harmless enough. Raise a glass and bid her on her way.”

“I’ll do that. I’m going to have a quick look in the gift store before Nicole arrives.”

Walking along the high street, stopping to read the treatments Helios Holistics and Beauty Therapy offered, she failed to notice a car slowing, the woman inside recognising her, already on the phone to her boss. “She’s here too. The girlfriend.”

“How delicious,” the Widow replied. “Don’t do anything. Not yet. I have plans for that madam. Oh, such delicious plans. Send me the videos now. I want to see my friend again.”

“Sending them. I’ll head to London and wait for your instructions.”

“I suspect my friend will have known you’re working for me. Just how I want it. Keep her looking over her shoulder. Keep her guessing where I’ll show up. Oh, this is so much fun. So delicious.”

Nicole found Waverly purchasing a number of gifts in the store, folding her arms. “So much for staying with Ros,” she said, as Waverly held up two teacloths. 

“Which one do you prefer?”

“One on the left. I packed your case. I left most of the food behind.”

“I’m thinking I could give Wyn the other one, and I’ll get a few more for our parents.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Life or death decisions.”

“Don’t,” Waverly replied. “I buy when I’m stressed. You’re lucky there’s not a jewellers here.”

“There’s one in the next road,” the woman serving offered.

“Perfect, I’ll take a look.”

“May I remind you we’re supposed to be heading to Glasgow.”

“Did you get us flights?”

“Not yet. Haven’t had time. Waves, we need to get going.”

“Five more minutes. I need to get a few more things.”

“Fine, I’ll be outside.”

“I know you hate shopping. Meet you back at Ros’s shop.”

Nicole was in two minds whether to leave her there, or wait, knowing Waverly could spend all day in a shop making up her mind on something she would ultimately decide not to buy. Standing outside, the area clear of anyone who might hear her conversation, she called J. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“How’s the holiday?”

“J, I know you well enough to know you don’t do small talk. What’s happening?”

“The PM has asked for a full briefing on JOSHUA, which means I’m working all hours.”

“The Widow, what’s happening with her?”

“Nothing. M’s waiting for my report before taking any further action.”

“Why? We had her. She’s separate from this organisation and still dangerous.”

“Not our call. M’s worried we’ll do something to jeopardise our chances with JOSHUA.”

“That’s crazy. Look, I have a situation here. The Widow sent someone to check out my Scottish home.”

“I wondered what you were doing there,” J replied.

“Are you tracking me?”

“Yes, why?”

“I thought you turn me off when I’m not working.”

“I would, except you’ve come into contact with the Black Widow. If my hunch about the Widow is correct, she’ll want to finish the job she started.”

“Thanks. Good to know. I’m heading back to London. Can we meet?”

“Affirmative.”

“Must go, tea towels to choose.”

“Spy life is the high…”

“Waverly wants me to make jam too. And sell vegan quiche.”

“You’re wasted here OOH. Go have fun. I’ll see you in London.”

“I’ll bring you back a tea towel.”

Waverly exited the store with several carrier bags. “That was therapeutic.”

“I promised J a gift tea towel.”

“I should have a spare one. Bought ten. Is that enough?”

Nicole snorted. “I have no idea. Are you planning on opening your own store?”

“So rude. I think I’ll sell our own in the café. Can’t decide on the name of it. You know the castle has a ghost.”

“I do. Seen her.”

“You haven’t. Really?”

“I need to say goodbye to Ros. We’d better get going.”

“Have you really seen the ghost?” Waverly asked, as she followed Nicole who now was carrying the two full bags of purchases. “I don’t believe in them, personally. I’d like to see her.”

“Oh Waves, I love you. I really do.”

Hugs over, Nicole promised not to be a stranger, the pair heading to the hire car on route to Glasgow. Unable to get a flight that day, they ate a late lunch in a cosy Italian restaurant close to their hotel, taking a stroll around the city, Waverly purchasing more gifts this time for friends, Nicole wondering if they would appreciate fridge magnets. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would buy, but then that’s why she was with Waverly, their individual personalities melding together. 

Passing a jewellers Waverly stopped, gazing in at the selection of engagement rings. “I quite like that one,” she said, pointing to a diamond solitaire, Nicole making a mental note.

“It’s pretty. I was hoping to get you something a little more substantial.”

“What would you like. You’ll need one too.”

“Something simple. Plain. Hadn’t given it much thought.”

“What if I move in?”

“Whoa,” Nicole replied, failing to keep the pretense going. “Are you sure?”

“Sure. Okay, so father might be against it, but he doesn’t own me.”

“It would work, only…what if I moved into yours?”

“Either. Look, I need to say this. And, don't go running away again."

"Promise." 

Waverly exhaled, clenching her fists in readiness. "There are moments when it takes over, when I’m back in that room and not going to get out.”

"Me too."

"The only good thing was you. Seeing you. Knowing whatever was going to happening, you would be there with me." 

Nicole blinked a few times to stop her eyes responding to Waverly's words. “What if we head to the hotel and I give you a back massage.”

Waverly grabbed Nicole’s arm. “How about I give you one first.”

The flight to London the next day was practically empty, Nicole not used to the cramped seating in Economy, preferring a higher class of travel where complimentary drinks are served and kids with sticky hands didn’t seek her attention.

Dropping Waverly at her father’s house she returned home, scooping up a handful of post from the mat as she entered, dumping her bag in the hall. About to make herself a coffee her phone buzzed with a text from J, asking her to meet him at a small café on the Kings Road, no more than a few minutes from her house. “That’s beyond creepy,” she said, as she entered, taking a seat opposite, eyeing the two slices of toast and peppermint tea in a clear mug.

“I didn’t want to meet near the office.”

“Guessing you have something.”

J slid a large brown envelope across the table. “These are the people I’ve identified as part of JOSHUA.”

Nicole pulled out a sheet of paper, studying the photographs of four women. “Any idea who they are?”

“The first is Demi Cox, of the Cox Chemicals dynasty. Known sympathiser of radical causes. There’s large bank transfers to her, guessing she must be the one supplying the chemicals to the Widow.”

Nicole pointed to the next photo of a slightly older woman. “And her?”

“Petra Blankova, wanted for the Chechen school attack and other massacres. We always suspected she was funded by a larger group.”

“And her?” Nicole asked, pointing to the third woman.

“Nur Sabir, wanted for more than two hundred bus bombings throughout China.”

“Two hundred. Who’s the fourth woman?”

“Anna Maria Chindamo, part of the Lucchese mafia family. Wanted for drug smuggling, abduction, extortion, murder of the entire family of a rival, you name it.”

“Nice. So, these are the Widow’s friends?”

“Some of them. I have a longer list, but these are of interest.”

“All women.”

“All women.”

“Bobo said the Widow was part of JOSHUA’s collection. So, you’re telling me this group is hiring the worst women it can find for what?”

“Precisely. For what? We went after the Widow on M’s instructions. She wanted her out of the equation. But, this is not some jam making, Women’s Institute gathering. This is an army of women who kill for a cause. They have their own agenda for what they do outside of JOSHUA. But, they’re being brought together for something I haven’t been able to work out. Yet.”

“Waverly bought you a tea towel,” Nicole offered, absorbing the new information.


	13. Bitch

Nicole replaced the sheet inside the envelope, handing it to J. “Righteousness would be my guess,” Nicole said, tapping a sugar dispenser with her finger. “Their causes are all different, except for one thing, they all believe they are justified in what they’re doing.”

“Doesn’t explain Cox, although she’s bought into the whole radical mindset. Always a dangerous combination. From what I can gather JOSHUA is paying for deliberate chaos.”

“That’s what I never understood about the Widow,” Nicole replied. “She doesn’t have a cause. More like she’s sending a message. But to who? And why?”

“I still haven’t identified who in the UK is part of this JOSHUA organisation, other than it’s clearly more than one. Communications refer to undermining those in charge, which I initially assumed must mean the Monarchy.”

“Still could be the Monarchy. Although, it doesn’t fit with these women. They don’t need to take down our country. They have their own fights, or interests to protect. Whoa, scorned.”

“Expand,” J replied. “What do you mean scorned?”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. It’s not what, it’s who. These women are angry enough to blow up buses and schools, poison cities, or finance such activities.”

“Conceptually plausible. Which would mean the Widow is angry at someone.”

“What’s her background? Something, no someone in her past must have made her like this.”

“Her records have been cleaned. Any trace of who she is wiped. Not even a name.”

“That’s not possible, unless…”

“Unless someone on the inside wanted it that way. We didn’t need to know who she was when she operated independently. We simply had to stop her, given she had made numerous threats to attack London.”

“She still could. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. It’s like we’re being forced down a particular path on a leash.”

“My thoughts exactly,” J replied. “That’s why I needed to run this by you. I thought it was me. You were with her, you got closer than anyone who’s still alive. What are we missing?”

Nicole shrugged. “She’s messed up, that’s for sure. Believes she’s justified killing innocent people. I’m still trying to work out how Waverly became involved. So few know about us. It’s got to me, for the first time doing this job it’s got inside me.”

“M did the right thing taking you off this. You’re too close.”

“Except, she’s still sniffing around, following me, sending people to spy on us. We couldn’t go back to the house because Waverly was too freaked out.”

“Do you need to disappear?”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m not hiding. I just wish…if anything happens to Waverly.”

“I can have a word with M. Have another agent assigned.”

“She has two already,” Nicole replied. “I’m not out of the game yet. I don’t know. It’s like she wants me to be afraid of losing the one I love. It’s a sick game.”

J sipped his lukewarm tea. “Not that I’m in any way qualified to comment, but maybe it’s love.”

“Of course it’s love. My world is Waverly.”

“I meant the Widow. Scorn, love.”

“Why me?”

It was J’s turn to shrug. “Women are not my territory.”

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. It can’t be. But, that would mean.”

“Your communication skills haven’t improved,” J teased. “Expand.”

“No records.”

“Is this a Times cryptic crossword clue? No records expand.”

“Who has the power to wipe records?”

“Impossible. Nicky what you’re saying.”

“I can’t believe it too. But, it fits. I hope I’m wrong.”

J’s hand shook as he placed his mug on the table. “The enemy is within.”

“It’s how she knew. The bitch knew about Waverly because M knew.”

“We need to go carefully. If you’re right and I too hope you’re not. But if you are.”

“I need to speak to her.”

“No. Nicky, not yet. Let me see what I can find out.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nicole continued, the elderly guy at the next table tutting loudly at her less-than ladylike outburst. “That’s why I’m off the assignment.”

“We have to be sure. At best, this is guesswork. We need something concrete before we confront her.”

“Give me the Widow’s address in Switzerland,” Nicole demanded. “If I can’t go after M, I can go after her lover.”

“Nicky, let me handle it. I’d better get back. Don’t do anything.”

Nicole watched as J left, her head spinning. She didn’t want to believe her theory about her own boss, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. M knew of her relationship with Waverly, knew the contents of the letter she wrote to her in the event of her death, knew Waverly was her one emotional weakness, if you could call love a weakness. 

The more she thought about it the angrier she became, her boss, the person she trusted with her life had put Waverly’s life in danger, had probably conspired with the Widow to kidnap Waverly. Had it not been for Xavier Waverly would be dead. He was the one who emptied the Widow’s gun, he was the one who rescued them from the island. M had put her life in danger too, probably the one who told the Widow she was a spy, probably the one who helped her escape. But why? Why would she help her? And, why now?

Heading home all Nicole wanted was to stand in front of M and scream at her for what she suspected she had done. Whatever sick game this was, whatever M thought she was gaining by working with a known terrorist, this had to stop. Calling Waverly it went to answerphone, her heart racing, cursing at not having her in the house with her. It was then her mind went into overdrive, pieces of the puzzle falling into place, one after the other.

The Widow had done everything to scare M. The threats to attack London were to scare her ex-lover, to make her act. And, she had. She had sent her top female operative to appease the bitch. The weakest link wasn’t M, it was the Widow, and Nicole needed to eliminate her with, or without M’s permission. 

Grabbing her bag from the hall, tipping everything out on the floor of the kitchen, she rushed to fill it with enough clothes for an overnight trip, leaving her gun in the drawer. She needed to draw her out, make the Widow sweat as she was making her sweat about Waverly’s safety. Attack is the best form of defence she repeated to herself as she headed to Heathrow for a flight to Zurich. As she sat in the departure lounge her phone rang. “Nicky, I told you to sit tight.”

“J I can’t,” Nicole replied, looking around to find a quieter spot. “I’ve got to get ahead of this.”

“This is the wrong way. You’ll compromise everything.”

“J, Waverly’s life is at stake. You know that. M may not be on our side.”

“If you go rogue she’ll terminate you.”

Nicole paused, knowing what J was implying. “This is personal.”

“It can’t be. OOH, you are a British intelligence officer not some terrorist out for revenge. Think it through.”

“I’m on the side of good.”

“No one will see it that way. You were told to step down from the mission. If you’re caught going against M they’ll put you away for the rest of your life.”

“I can’t. J, I have to. I won’t get caught.”

“I’m going to M.”

“J, please.”

Her flight to Zurich was being announced, Nicole picking up her bag, standing ready to take her place in the queue, watching the other passengers line up in preparation to board. She knew if J followed through on his threat the journey would be a wasted one, M presumably getting a message to the Widow to say she was on her way. Leaving the airport she drove home, cursing the world and every sick bitch in it.

No sooner had she parked her car when Waverly called, asking if she fancied joining her at the theatre, Nicole in no mood to go anywhere. Eventually persuaded, she changed into something suitable for a night out, heading to London’s West End to wait for Waverly, still on edge, her mind still churning over her theories. She feigned interest in the performance, listened to Waverly tell her about the new publication her father’s firm was launching, discussed living arrangements. “Father wants us to stay at his house.”

“Perfectly acceptable,” Nicole replied, her eyes everywhere but on Waverly. “I’ll pack a few bags, bring them over.”

“I’m thinking of emigrating to Zanzibar,” Waverly added.

“Sounds good. Perfectly logical.”

Waverly placed a hand on Nicole’s stomach, Nicole’s eyes suddenly focusing on her, the first time that evening. “Zanzibar. What’s wrong?”

“We could live there if you want.”

“Okay, I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I’ve been talking all night and you’re not here.”

“I am. I’m right here.”

Waverly undid one of Nicole’s shirt buttons, slipping her hand inside. “Are you?”

“That’s not going to help my concentration.”

“At least you’ll be focused on me. Where are you?”

“Here.”

Waverly pulled her hand away. “Really. What’s the name of the new publication?”

“Womanly.”

“Okay. Correct. What’s the target audience?”

“The Widow. Sorry, women entrepreneurs and business owners.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s a great idea. I’d read it.”

“Nicole, for a spy you’re a lousy liar.”

“Can you not say that out loud,” Nicole snapped. 

“That’s it, I’m going home,” Waverly snapped back. “Not having fun.”

“Waves please,” Nicole called after her, as Waverly headed out of the theatre. “There’s a lot going on.”

Waverly spotted the car with her MI6 bodyguard, turning to face Nicole. “I’m part of this, remember. I’m stressed, I’ve deadlines, and I hate this back and forth. Hot, cold, hot, cold.”

“This isn’t about you. I can’t, not yet. Can I call you?”

“Seriously!”

“Okay, okay. God, Waves this is so messed up. Can we get a drink somewhere?”

“Nicole talk to me. I nearly died at her hands, whatever is going on don’t keep shutting me out.”

Nicole exhaled deeply. “Not here. Somewhere quiet.”

Waverly threw up her hands. “You’d better tell me, or I’m walking, you hear.”

Nicole nodded, taking Waverly’s hand, heading away from the theatre, finding a quiet wine bar. “I don’t know who to trust anymore,” she began, as she played with the stem of her glass. “I don’t know who’s on my side.”

“I’m on your side,” Waverly replied, reaching out to touch Nicole’s hand. “I’m here for you.”

“I know. Waves it’s all wrong. Good side, bad side.”

Waverly gulped a mouthful of wine. “Nicole, just tell me.”

Nicole’s eyes darted around the underground space in which they now found themselves. “M.”

“Okay, sorry not following. What about M?”

“The Widow and M. I think they were lovers.” Waverly’s mouth fell open. “Yep, me too.”

“But…but. And they're…but-”

“I know. I can’t prove it, except it makes sense. How did the Widow know about you?”

“I don’t know. It can’t be.”

“How did she know about Cassillis? My name is not on the deeds, they’re in my father’s name, but he’s given me the castle in a separate letter. MI6 are the only ones to know that.”

“What do we do? Oh God, I’m scared.”

Nicole looked into Waverly’s eyes, the terror she saw that day they were reunited at the hands of the Widow there once more. “Waves, I will sort this out. We keep you safe, away from harm. We may have to stop seeing each other until this is over.”

“No you don't,” Waverly replied. “Not again. You can't keep yo-yoing on our relationship. We fight together. I know you want to protect me, but I need you in my life. God, Nicole, I should have known that night you tried to climb up the drainpipe at college you were trouble. But, I couldn’t let you go. I can’t breathe without you. It’s not just you who’s been existing on autopilot.”


	14. Bubbly

“I no longer know what to do,” Nicole said, staring at her full glass of wine. “Wow, that’s hard to say. It’s always been straightforward. Carry out the assignment, regardless of what it involved, because M gave the instructions. And now, if my instincts are right, she could be the problem.”

“Okay, okay,” Waverly replied. “We don’t know for certain. I agree it could be M who told the Widow about me. And you're absolutely sure no one else knew?”

“The letter I wrote to you in the event of my death, M had a copy. I left you Cassillis Castle.”

“Really. Did you really? That’s so sweet. God that would have been awful though, going there without you. I heard about the tree climbing and nude swimming. So want to do that with you.”

“I thought you hated climbing.”

“There you are,” Waverly replied, reaching over to take Nicole’s hand. “That’s my Nicole. You know perfectly well what I mean. It would have to be in the summer. Too cold any other time of year.”

“I have a rogue boss, we’re being chased by a crazy terrorist and you’re thinking about getting your clothes off in Scotland.”

Waverly grinned. “We’re so doing it. Plus, a picnic in front of the castle. Sandwiches and mini quiches. Okay, okay, priorities. Do you confront M?”

“J needs to look into it before I do anything. I may have, sort of tried to go after the Widow independently.”

“What? Nicole, are you insane? You can’t do this on your own. She’s too dangerous. God this is a mess.”

“You’re telling me. I should have taken your advice, never got into this game.”

“You should, but that’s for another time. We are where we are. Okay, okay, let’s think this through. Let’s suppose you’re right and they are lovers. Or were, or have something between them.”

“M’s married, or was. Wears a ring.”

“She still might have had a relationship with the Widow. Maybe it was a secret. Maybe they met on a mission and fell in love. But it wasn’t meant to be, because you know the bitch is cray and a murderer.”

“Following. So, M knows her, or knew her, and told her about you. Why?”

“No idea. Doesn’t make sense. We weren’t together. It’s not as if I’m one of you.”

Nicole’s eyes widened. “Maybe she was one of us. No, that's crazy. I’m going too far down the rabbit hole. J might find something. Where do you want to sleep tonight?”

“With you. Are you okay coming back to father’s?”

“I thought I wasn't in his good books.”

“He’s in Chalfield for a few days. It’s just us, oh and that other agent, James. Bit full of himself.”

“Don’t mention any of this to him.”

“Oh, I tell him all our secrets. I thought that’s what spies do.”

“Waves!”

Nicole watched as Waverly dressed the next morning, admiring her choice of business attire, wishing she could go with her, see what her office looked like. As if Waverly had read her mind, she invited her to visit, James driving them to Waverly’s place of work. Waverly watched as eyes fell on Nicole, male and female, her presence, the way she carried herself, and her distinctive hair making heads turn. Both proud and jealous at the same time, Waverly ushered her fiancé into her office closing the door. “I have a meeting in a little over an hour. What would you like to do?”

Nicole headed to the window, gazing out over London. “You.” 

“Nicole! This is my workplace. God, I’ve so wanted to. Ever since we got back together. Have to be quick though. I’ll tell my assistant not to disturb us.”

“On your desk. No against the door.”

Waverly made a quick call to her assistant, locking the door. “Let me decide. My treat.”

They kept the moans down as best they could, although the deep moan leaving Waverly’s lips as Nicole performed magic on her body may have been overheard by those in the main office. Straightening clothes, fastening buttons, a knock on Waverly’s office door told her she was wanted in the meeting. As she was about to leave Nicole pulled her into an embrace, locking lips. “Just in case you forget me. Oh, by the way, one of your buttons is undone.”

“Don’t go anywhere, I haven’t finished with you.”

Nicole took a seat at Waverly’s desk, swiveling the chair from side to side, checking what Waverly was working on. Front cover designs for the new magazine, a selection of draft articles including one on dressing for success, Nicole rolling her eyes wondering if the world would ever move on from judging a woman’s success purely by what she wore. Her phone out she waited for J to answer. “Nicky, I’m really busy,” J said, on answering.

“If I’m going to play it your way you need to give me something.”

“I’m about to give an update on JOSHUA to M and the Prime Minister. I’ve got to go.”

“I can’t just sit here and wait for her to turn up on my doorstep.”

“I’ll call you back. I might have something.”

Nicole had never been one to sit still, writing Waverly a note to say she was going for a walk and would be back in time for lunch. Heading out she strolled the streets, her mind still on the Widow and what she might possibly mean to M. If they had been lovers what message was the Widow trying to send? Her attacks had been too big, too well-orchestrated for this just to be a lover’s spat. The Widow wanted her attacks to send a message she was powerful, more powerful than MI6, or anyone who came after her. 

Sat on a park bench, more bored than she could ever imagine, she wondered whether this would be the feeling on leaving MI6. She loved the thrill of the chase, being up against those who chose a different side to hers, ended lives purely for their own gain be that justified for a cause like the bus bombing bitch Nur Sabir, or the rich bitch with an attitude Demi Cox. Neither were Mother Theresa, but then neither was she given what she did in the name of the British Government.

She imagined whatever this JOSHUA organisation was it probably operated by its own code to carry out what it believed to be justified. She had learned about criminal groups during training and on missions, American gangster rings, Italian mafia, Chinese triads and Japanese Yakuza, all with their own agenda, all using violence and intimidation for their own benefit. Most were national in their criminal activities, some more active on the international stage, very few sought world domination, not that that was something new. 

The desire to change the world and not for the better had long enticed those who wanted more. There had always been dangerous alliances, criminal organisations collaborating for a prize bigger than they could obtain individually. One of her instructors likened these alliances to warrior fish who knew when to strike for maximum effect despite their size. She told her class the story of three fighting fish in a tank, one fish refraining from fighting while two fought to the death. The one who waited simply attacked the exhausted victor thereby claiming overall victory. 

Such a cunning tactic had occasionally been employed by criminal organisations, pitting powerful enemies against each other hoping they would exhaust themselves and be vulnerable when a group such as JOSHUA sought to grab power. A text from J broke her thoughts. “Spill,” she said, looking around at who might overhear.

“Cleo Clanton is in London. She’s looking to catch up with you. Left a message on the number we gave saying she’d like drinks.”

“I’m on leave.”

“M wants you to meet with Cleo.”

“She kidnapped Waverly, or had something to do with it.”

“There are enormous sums of money being transferred. Clanton Capital is orchestrating something behind the scenes.”

“She probably knows what I am.”

“M is happy for you to go rogue.”

“Bet she is. Wants me dead.”

“She wants you on the inside.”

“I’m being sacrificed. You and I both know I won’t walk out alive from this.”

“It has to be you.”

“J, this is a suicide mission.”

“Nicky, I’m sorry. I questioned M on this very point, but she insisted you make the meeting with the Clanton’s.”

“I’m not meeting anyone until I’ve spoken with M.”

“She’s flown to Switzerland for a convention. It has to be tonight.”

“That’s balls. Sorry, sorry. J the Widow is there you know it. She’s going to tell her what we know. God, this sucks big time.”

“Nicky, you can’t go against M’s instructions. She’s issued a command, that’s your job.”

“Yep, my job to get dead. Funny how she didn’t issue the command herself. Utter coward. She’ll take you down too.”

“No, I have it on record. The PM was there when M gave the command.”

“Fine, I’ll go. But, if I end up dead I’m so coming back to haunt you.”

“I wish this wasn’t so. I can have Xavier on standby, although M said you were to go alone.”

“I wonder why. No, best not. This is between me and M. Look, forget about the haunting thing, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t mind,” J replied. “Would be interesting. Good luck OOH.”

Nicole strolled back to Waverly’s office finding her deep in discussion with one of her editors for the new publication. Waverly looked up as Nicole entered, realising something was wrong by the expression on Nicole’s face. Clearing her office, closing the door once more, Nicole explained as best she could the situation, Waverly adamant she should not meet with the banker. “I’ve no choice. I’m still part of MI6. Whatever they want me to do I do it.”

“This is wrong. Nicole please, for us. You’re walking into a trap.”

“My Will leaves everything to you. You’re kind of stuck with my grandmother’s ring too.”

“Don’t,” Waverly replied, tears welling. “Don’t you dare say that.”

Nicole went to hold Waverly, feeling Waverly's hand against her chest once more. “I won’t die.”

“No. It’s too much. Every time I open my heart to you. Every time. And, we’re here. I don’t want your stupid house, or ring if you’re not in my life.”

“I have no one else. Well, there’s a distant cousin who could possibly inherit it all.”

“I hate you.”

“Waves, don’t let those be the last words.”

Waverly broke down. “I love you. I can’t let you go. Go against M. For me, for us.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I love you and I’m going to stay alive, you hear. Now, dry those eyes of yours, otherwise the whole office will think we’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

“Hold me.”

“Forever.”

Nicole left Waverly’s office not knowing if she would see her again, stopping off at her house to change, getting into the car J sent to take her to the hotel bar selected by Cleo. Arriving at The Connaught she asked for the Champagne Room, a member of staff leading the way, opening the door for her. Cleo was waiting inside, the pupils of her eyes widening on seeing Nicole dressed to kill. “So glad to see you again,” she said, kissing Nicole on both cheeks.

“I’ve still to look through your investment recommendations. Forgive me.”

“Plenty of time,” Cleo replied, pouring two glasses of the 2011 Bollinger, offering a glass to Nicole. “Here’s to building relationships.”

Nicole lifted the glass to her lips, the smell of a decent champagne hitting her nose, knowing whatever lay ahead she no longer had any control over, not even a boss to keep her alive. “Here’s to building relationships,” she repeated, taking in the expensive bubbly.


	15. Brinkmanship

The taste was pleasing, hints of stewed fruits heightened by mineral notes evocative of flint. “Perfect,” Nicole commented, the aroma of honey and hard candy hitting her nose. “Excellent choice I must say.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Cleo replied, her eyes on Nicole’s cleavage, a look suggesting she would happily lick any liquid from there. “I want to get to know you. I feel we have a lot in common.”

“Perhaps. At least we are in agreement when it comes to champagne. You first.”

Cleo dipped a finger into her drink, removing it slowly, bringing it to her mouth, letting the liquid pass her lips. “What would you like to know? I’m an open book when it comes to someone as attractive as you.”

Nicole cast her eyes over Cleo’s body taking in the fit of her dress, its low cut showing off what she clearly wanted to be on offer. Perfectly manicured nails, with the lightest of pink polish, not too much make-up, enough to bring out her features. Attractive yes, Nicole’s type no, but that wasn’t the option here. Cleo wanted her, making it known in the most obvious way to leave no doubt in Nicole’s mind she was on the menu. 

Placing her glass on the table, licking her lower lip, Nicole locked eyes on Cleo’s, reaching over to place a hand gently on her knee, achieving the reaction she wanted. “I can see there is more than fine wine we share.”

Cleo’s hand shook as she placed it on top of Nicole’s. “There is indeed. I have a suite upstairs, The Library, if you would like to join me. I find champagne goes to my head too quickly.”

Nicole moved her hand higher, perched on the edge of the chair, catching the scent of Cleo’s perfume, weighing up her options. “I’m interested, but sadly not today. You fascinate me Miss Clanton and I do want to know you better.”

Cleo took Nicole’s hand, bringing it to her lips, kissing the palm softly. “A shame. I could do things to you right now I would regret in the morning.”

Nicole smiled. “I could do things to you I wouldn’t regret. You are my type, successful yet sexy, you know your own mind which is so much more interesting between the sheets.”

Cleo shuddered. “Won’t you reconsider my offer? We could take a shower and explore your hidden depths. I want to get to know every part of you, with my fingers first, finding what makes you tick, and perhaps my tongue could find what makes you purr my name.”

Nicole moved closer, her hand now on the top of Cleo’s thigh, her thumb positioned in such a way as to leave little doubt what it would do next. Cleo’s legs opened slightly, desperate to have more contact, Nicole’s hot breath on her cheek, her lips within range, lusciously glossed lips ready to be consumed. “I take my time,” Nicole purred. “I like the slow build and the anticipation. I find if it’s rushed I don’t enjoy it as much. I would savour you, tease you till…”

Cleo’s eyes were now the colour of midnight, her lips parting, her breathing fast, wanting Nicole to take her right there, in that very room, regardless who might hear or see them. Her fingers found Nicole’s shirt, releasing the top two buttons, slipping a hand inside, the touch of warm skin against her own more than she could bear, searching lower for a sign Nicole was as turned on as she.

Nicole’s breath hitched as Cleo’s hand found what she was looking for, her fingers playing over lace. “I’m…I’ve thought about you, what we could do together.”

Nicole pulled back, knowing if she allowed Cleo to go any further she would have to make good on the tease. Better to leave Cleo hanging than let her take what no longer was hers to give. She was with Waverly and would not go with another, even if it was part of the job. There were some things she would not do, no matter what.

Buttoning her shirt, taking another mouthful of champagne, she stood, turning to leave. “Till next time.”

“Wait, when can I see you again?”

“I’ll call you.”

With that she left the private room, heading outside to catch her breath, wondering what the hell their meeting had been for. Feeling used, feeling she was being prostituted to some criminal banker, if she had seen M in that moment she would have strangled her in broad daylight, in front of witnesses. Calling J she hissed her contempt for the organisation she once respected. “I’m going to kill M. What the fuck J? What the actual…”

A tap on her shoulder made her jump, which given she was usually more alert to such things, made her even more annoyed. J was standing with his phone to his ear. “I’m guessing you won’t be haunting me just yet.”

“Really not in the mood,” she snapped. “And, don’t creep up on me. I’m about ready to explode.”

“Let’s go somewhere less exposed,” he suggested. “I have a car waiting.”

Pulling away Nicole was still spitting feathers. “I was nearly devoured by her. Imagine explaining that to Waves.”

“Firstly, and please don’t take this as criticism, but you should not be discussing this with Waverly, Waves, Waverly. Second, M guessed you were of interest sexually to Miss Clanton. I agree it’s playing with fire, but if that’s what it takes.”

“What it takes! What it takes!” Nicole hissed. “Me being bedded by a target. Whether I tell Waves or not, I’d still have to look at her knowing I did something for the job that went against my code.”

“I understand. Did she say anything about who you work for?”

“Nothing. She’s playing let’s pretend, as I am.”

“Interesting. If she knows who you really are, but is still prepared to bed you.”

“I’m not getting into bed with her. I’m not doing it.”

“M mentioned something about letting you be compromised.”

“Compromised! Of course I’m compromised. I’m the little fish being sent to hook a bigger fish. I’m done with this. M can go herself next time. I'm so fu-”

“OOH, a little decorum. M will be back this evening. I will report your concerns and see what she wants to do regarding the amorous overtures of Miss Clanton.”

“Oh, I know what she’ll say. Lie back and think of England. I’m beyond furious right now. Can you drop me at Waverly’s office, it’s nearby.”

Pulling up outside the building, Nicole emerged from the car, heading to Waverly’s office. “Wow, look at you,” Waverly said, as she entered. “That suit looks amazing on you.”

Nicole went to close the door, glancing out over the office as eyes remained on her, some mouths open, some frantically pretending to get on with their work having been caught ogling their boss’s visitor. Without thinking Nicole locked the door, pulling Waverly towards the bathroom. “Steady tiger, I’m about to start a meeting with the team.”

Nicole didn’t answer, or miss a step, closing the bathroom door, locking her eyes on Waverly’s. “Make me feel human again,” she pleaded, as she unfastened her own shirt. “Make me not feel used.”

Waverly’s hands pressed against Nicole’s chest. “Wait, wait. We don't have time.”

“I…just touch me. I need to feel you against my skin.”

“Nicole, I have a job to do here. You can’t barge in and take up where we left off.”

Nicole slammed her hand into the door. “I can’t do this. I can’t be used like this.”

“I…I’m not using you. Nicole please, what happened?”

Nicole knew J was right, that telling Waverly was against MI6 policy. No missions discussed, no details revealed, what was done on the job stayed on the job. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault. I’ll go. I shouldn’t have come here, not like this.”

“No, it’s fine. Something’s bothering you. If you want me to do something I’ll do it.”

Nicole brushed her fingers across Waverly’s cheek. “I only ever want to say your name. I’ll wait for you at your father’s.”

“I’ll come straight home. I was supposed to be attending a function this evening. Was hoping you’d come with me, but it’s not important. God, I hate this.”

“At least I’m still alive,” she offered, Waverly’s eyes filling. “Oh Waves, I’m sorry. It’s fine, I’m fine really, just stressed.”

“Will you be okay?”

Nicole nodded, fastening her shirt. “All good. Don’t be mad at me.”

“Oh God, how could I be?”

Nicole released them from their hideaway, unlocking the door to Waverly’s office to be greeted by half a dozen employees standing patiently outside all staring at her. She wanted to proclaim she wasn’t eye candy, merely smiling at one editor whose cheeks turned a crimson colour, Nicole winking. She knew she turned heads, except today, just this once she wished that wasn’t the case. 

Pouring herself a large whiskey, she sat in front of the television watching the news, taking in some of the stories, ignoring others, knowing what was presented to the world was nothing to what went on beneath the surface. Riots in one country supposedly by a rebel group could easily have been orchestrated by that country’s own government, or another government intent on disrupting the status quo. A commercial airplane crashing in Egypt blamed on a faulty engine may well have been sabotage, or the assassination of one passenger made to look like an unfortunate accident.

Her ears pricked up at the news of a foiled attack on a water supply in Naples, Italy. Attacking a city carried a bigger psychological threat, which was why terrorists often chose to attack them, to create a feeling of insecurity in individuals. An attack on the water infrastructure was an even bigger threat, because it entered people’s homes, a place where everyone wants to feel most secure. A few litres of a highly toxic substance would be all that was needed to cause thousands of deaths, or simply pollute an entire food system affecting hundreds of thousands in a few hours.

Terrorists knew their acts went beyond the physical and the psychological, getting attention, international media invariably running with the story, while exposing weaknesses in a system. And, plenty had tried it. Al-Qaeda agents arrested in Denver with plans to poison water supplies across America. Two thousand dead in China after water was contaminated with a pesticide. Neo-Nazis convicted in England having conspired with Serbian Nazis to poison water used by Muslims. There were even documents seized during the mission to kill Osama bin Laden revealing plans for poisoning water supplies.

Nicole was about to pick up the phone to J when there was a knock on the front door, the person standing before her the last person she wanted to see. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” M asked.

“I’m on holiday.”

“This will only take a moment.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“J. I can conduct this on the pavement, although I’d prefer if we weren’t overheard.”

Nicole stood to one side allowing M to enter, guiding her to the lounge. “I thought you were in Switzerland.”

“I was. Are you going to drink alone?”

Nicole glared at M, pouring a decent-sized whiskey, handing it to her supposed boss. “Your health,” she said, raising her own glass.

“I know you’re cross with me right now.”

“I resign.”

“As I said before,” M began, removing her coat, taking up residence on one of the couches. “I’m not accepting it until the Widow is eliminated.”

“She’s coming for me. Waverly is in danger, you know that.”

“You leaving the service will not change that. In fact, it might make things worse for you.”

“Worse! How could it possibly be any worse than it already is?”


	16. Ball

“Decent malt,” M commented. “The Macallan 18 if I’m not mistaken.”

Nicole glanced at the bottle on the drinks stand, spotting the number on the label, guessing M knew her whiskeys. “What game are we playing here?” she asked.

“A dangerous game,” M replied, bringing the glass to her nose, taking in the aroma of the whiskey. “I apologise for putting you in a position where you were not comfortable.”

“You want me to eliminate the Widow. Give me the authority to go after her, dead or alive.”

M took in more of the fine whiskey. “I cannot do that.”

“Thought not. You'd rather I was sacrificed.”

“It’s not a question of sacrifice. Yes, your life is in danger, but also safe.”

Nicole had had enough. “This stops now. Either you tell me what’s really going on, or I walk.”

“OOH, Nicole, you are more like me than you realise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I too was passionate once, took life far too seriously, thought I could change it. Genuinely believed I could save someone I loved. We learn to temper our hearts as the world beats its drum.”

“Stop fucking with me. Do you want her dead?”

“I'll ignore that.”

“I can’t sit around waiting for her to show up on my doorstep.”

“You may have to. She is our key into JOSHUA.”

“I can’t. She’ll kill Waverly. This is too close to home.”

“What if I could guarantee Waverly’s safety, would you do this for me?”

Nicole took another mouthful of whiskey, letting its fire burn the back of her throat. “I…I don’t trust you.”

“I will keep her safe if you bring me the Widow.”

“How did she know? No one knew about Waverly.”

M cradled her glass in her hands. “A tactical error. An oversight.”

Nicole gripped her own glass to stop her hand shaking. “Oversight! She had a gun pointed at her. She has nightmares because you made a tactical error.”

“I thought. She was never part of the plan. We needed to draw the Widow out and you were our best option. She likes a certain kind.”

“You’re a bigger bitch than her.”

M finished her drink, placing the glass on the table. “We do what is necessary. The Widow chose a different path, one I was hoping to contain. Her involvement with JOSHUA moves her beyond my reach, except I have you who might be my one shot at bringing an end to her ambitions.”

Nicole grabbed M’s glass, refilling it and her own. “You know dying isn’t the hardest part of this job. It’s watching those we love be destroyed because of what we do. I can’t let that happen to Waverly.”

M accepted the drink, cupping it once more in her hands, staring into the liquid, reminiscing on old times. “I knew someone once, such a mind, the best. But fragile, like a child, desperate for love and adoration, wanting more than I could ever possibly give. I betrayed her.”

Nicole sat on the opposite couch, cradling her own drink. “I can’t right your wrongs. This isn’t fair.”

“I’m not asking you to. I did something, something unforgivable, because of this work we do for Queen and country. She no longer wants anything to do with me. Which is why I need you. She sees you, she wants you, and I'm convinced she will do anything to have you.”

“Is this all I mean to the organisation? A pretty face. I thought we had moved on from that.”

“She identifies with you.”

“I knew it. She’s MI6, isn’t she?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge,” M replied. “OOH, you could potentially save the lives of thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe more if we are to believe the communications J has uncovered.”

“Right. Thanks, good to know. Will that be on my tombstone, or Waverly’s?”

M put down her glass. “You are one of our best. I know what I’m asking flies in the face of what you signed up for, but we are dealing with an organisation that’s growing in strength, seeking to make its mark on the world. The Widow is our route in.”

“M, I can’t. Put me away for going against orders, I can’t do this. My life is Waverly.”

“Her life will only be safe if you do this,” M stressed. “I’m sorry, I wish there was another way, or another agent, but you are the one, the only one who can get us the Widow.”

“Who is she to you?”

“The choice is yours,” M replied, finishing her second drink, grabbing her coat. “Don’t be a fool.”

Letting herself out Nicole was left to finish her drink, downing it in one. Taking a shower, searching through Waverly’s clothes for a hoodie to wear, and a pair of leggings that would fit, she grabbed her trainers, needing to be anywhere but where she was right now. She hated running when she had been drinking, the lack of clarity the worst as she pounded out the miles. 

Exhausted, so far from anywhere she could call home, she sank to her knees the weight of everything catching up with her. The love of her life was now M’s gambling chip, a way to get her to do what needed to be done. If she didn’t do what M said Waverly’s life was as good as over. Hers too, if the Widow decided she no longer wanted to play. If she played M’s game, which meant playing the Widow’s game, there was no guarantee Waverly would be any safer, given what the Widow meant to M. Everyone was playing her. Cleo included.

Her head in her hands she wanted to disappear, take Waverly with her, find a bar to run in a distant coastal resort miles from anywhere, live life without the threat of being killed. The tears were falling now, her rational thinking unable to stop the dam burst, letting go, letting everything she held back out. “Guy trouble,” a woman said, as she jogged past. “Not worth it darling.”

Nicole looked up, wanting to tell this stranger everything. “Yep, guy trouble.”

The woman stopped, hands on hips, catching her breath. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Does it matter?”

“No, sorry. It’s just I would have seen you if you exercised in this park. You need cheering up.”

“I need a lot of things,” Nicole replied. “Thanks, I’m good.”

“Come on, I know a pub in the next road.”

“No thanks. I need…okay, one drink.”

Nicole woke the next morning to the sound of her phone buzzing, her head still fuzzy, realising she had been drugged, an unfamiliar scent she couldn’t place. Floral and not to her liking, opening her eyes, looking around. “What the-”

The woman beside her groaned. “Babes, way too early. Go back to sleep.”

“Where the-”

“One too many of the old sherbets.”

Nicole scrambled out of bed, thankful she still had on most of her clothes. “I shouldn’t be here.”

The woman sat up in bed, wearing far less than Nicole. “I didn’t know British spies did this.”

“What? Seriously, what?”

“Said you were on her Majesty’s secret service and needed to explore me.”

“No. I’m…this is not. This can’t be happening.”

The woman winked. “The Widow sends her regards.”

Nicole nearly threw up at the mention of her nemesis. “Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend. I have a message.”

Nicole backed towards the door, feeling for the handle. “I’m out of this game. Tell her I quit.”

“Oh, but that’s not how we play. The Widow requests your company at the Ambassador’s Ball in Vienna tomorrow evening. You will be there, or you will watch your lover die before your eyes.”

“I’m not playing,” Nicole screamed, wishing she hadn’t with the headache she now had to deal with. “I’m out. She’s won.”

The woman blew her a kiss from the bed. “Oh sweetie, this has only just begun. Now, run along, don’t keep your queen waiting.”

Nicole found her way out, standing outside a hotel with no idea how her life worked any more. Those who sought to protect her could not be trusted. Those who were against her were drawing her in. How the hell had they got to her while out on a run? And, how the hell had she ended up in bed with the enemy given how careful she was? And, why the hell was the Widow going to all this trouble because of her?

Her phone buzzed again. “Where the hell are you?” Waverly asked. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

“I’m…I’m not sure. Are you okay?”

“No. I’ve been worried sick. You acted weird in my office yesterday, disappear on me and I couldn’t get hold of you. I nearly rang J, although I don’t have his number.”

“J, good thinking. I need to go.”

“Nicole, wait.”

“I’ll call you later.”

J answered almost immediately. “Sup.”

“No J, just no with the sup. The Widow made contact. Not her, someone working for her. I have to go to Vienna for a ball of some kind.”

“The Ambassador’s. Perfect, that means she’s drawing you in.”

“Naples, another water supply attack on the news. Did you see it?”

“I did, although I suspect not the Widow this time. She’s got bigger plans.”

“Care to tell me.”

“M’s drawn a circle around the information obtained from Clanton Capital. She doesn’t want you giving anything away should-”

“Should I be tortured. Say it. In case they make me talk.”

“In this situation, yes,” J replied. “I think it’s for the best you know only what you need to know.”

“So, I’m going in blind.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your trip. M will need to speak with you before you leave.”

“Already has. Came to the house.”

“I will have her contact you.”

“Don’t bother. Looks like I’m on my own on this.”

Entering the house she removed her trainers and hoodie, along with her tee shirt and leggings, heading upstairs to the bathroom. As she reached the top of the stairs Waverly’s father emerged from his bedroom glaring at her, Nicole letting out a shriek at being caught with little on. “I suggest you wear a little more around the house in future,” he said, his eyes still on her body.

Nicole scrambled to cover her body with her hands. “Will do.”

“Waverly was upset,” he continued. “Not my place to say anything.”

“I understand.”

“I appreciate what you do, but not if it causes anguish to my daughter.” Nicole didn’t know what to say, standing still waiting for whatever else he wanted to say. “She’s sacrificing a lot to be with you.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve spoken with your father.”

“Is she here?”

“Early meeting. Lots of pressure on her to make the launch of the new publication. Big responsibility at her age.”

“Looks great. The cover.”

“She’s put a lot of work into it.”

“I can see. I’d better…need a shower.”

“Yes, yes. The Macallan 18 seems to have evaporated.”

“I’ll get another bottle.”

Nicole allowed the water to wash over her, letting the world carry on for a few minutes without her involvement. Oh how she wished she could have said to Waverly’s father what pressures she was facing. She couldn’t, nor could she tell Waverly, who probably was equally mad at her for what she’d done, whatever that was. Standing in front of the mirror, pleased the bruising on her shoulder was fading, she spotted a new circular purple patch on her neck, realising the Widow’s woman must have marked her. “No, no, no,” she said to her reflection. “I am dead when Waverly sees it.”

Throwing the clothes she had on the night before into a bag along with a few other items, she left the house, knowing there was no way Waverly could see her body until the incriminating mark had faded.


	17. Bitter

Standing on the station platform, needing movement, needing action, something to take her mind off everything, she felt a hand touch her shoulder, turning to find another young woman smiling at her, holding out a brown envelope. Without thinking she grabbed the woman by the throat, kicking her legs away, pinning her to the ground. “No, you hear. I said no.”

A group gathered around them, two men attempting to prize Nicole from the woman struggling for breath on the ground. Someone grabbed Nicole by the neck, holding the position long enough for her to know she needed to release whoever was beneath her. Another put his knee on her spine, pinning her arms behind her, a simple manoeuvre would have got her out of that position. Except, she no longer wanted to fight. 

Now in the back of a police van, heading to a police station to be booked for assault, her life was quickly unravelling before her eyes. “Name,” the duty officer barked.

“MI6.”

“Really,” the police officer replied. “And, I’m Captain America. Name.”

“MI6.”

“If you are pulling my whatsit, I’ll book you for assault with a weapon.”

“Call them.”

Leading Nicole to a cell she sat waiting for whatever was going to happen next. The hours ticked by, no one coming for her, assuming M had washed her hands, deciding she was too much of a risk. In many ways, that was exactly what Nicole wanted, to cause enough chaos and in doing so leave M with little choice but to dismiss her in disgrace. It no longer mattered leaving MI6 in a respectable fashion, she simply wanted out, to stay alive, for Waverly to stay alive and for the Widow to go fuck herself, literally. And M, and Cleo, and anyone else who wanted to fuck with her. Or, fuck her.

The door to the holding cell opened, M marching in with J, both looking at her as if she was the biggest fool ever. “You are being released,” M said, the brown envelope the woman attempted to give Nicole on the station platform now in her possession. “Into my custody.”

“I can’t,” Nicole replied. “I’m done.”

M sat on what passed for a bed, more a concrete bench. “OOH, this is what you were trained to do. This is your moment.”

Nicole held back the tears, refusing to let M see her cry. “Let someone else do this.”

M motioned for J to step outside, waiting for him to close the cell door. “Good and bad is simply a question of which side we choose. I will ask you to choose a side. The Widow wants you to choose too. You need to be clear what each side offers.”

“You want me to join her. Then what? Call me a traitor.”

M glanced at the cell door, lowering her voice. “What if JOSHUA is the way forward?”

Nicole heard the words. “Don’t do this to me. I’m not you.”

“I too have a choice," M replied, her voice louder. "Let you go after the Widow, or leave you here.”

Nicole’s whole body shook. “Who are my friends?”

M stood. “No one OOH. That’s the price you pay.”

Leaving the cell Nicole was faced with a simple choice, go after the Widow, or be cast out by MI6 and serve time at her Majesty’s pleasure for a very long time. Part of her wanted to destroy the tracker still in her wrist and vanish, knowing it would only be a matter of time before someone caught up with her and Waverly. Left in the cell for another four hours, by the time she was released her will had been beaten into submission, taking her belongings from the tray, walking out into the early evening, people passing her on their way to the pub, or on their way home.

Checking her phone she had seventeen new messages from Waverly, unable to answer any of them. Deciding not to get a train this time, she flagged down a black cab, entering her house, pouring herself a large whiskey. Her phone buzzed, Waverly, cancelling the call immediately. It buzzed again, Nicole’s hand hovering over the button. “Please, where are you?”

“I can’t,” was all Nicole could say. “I love you.”

“Nicole, don’t do this to me. Where are you?”

“I have to go away.”

“Please. Let me help.”

Nicole exhaled deeply. “I need to sort a few things out.”

“Are you coming home?”

“Waverly, I have to sort this out on my own.”

“Can I see you?”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Do I get to see the ring?”

“What?”

“Your grandmother’s.”

Nicole choked at the mention of the engagement ring, her voice betraying all the emotion she was struggling to suppress. “Waverly, I promise I’ll make this right.”

“Let me see you. Please. Whatever is going on, whatever you need to do, can I not be a part of it?”

Nicole stopped fighting. “I’m at home.”

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Waves, something happened. And-”

“It doesn’t matter. Give me half an hour.”

Nicole poured herself another large whiskey waiting for Waverly to arrive. A knock on the door alerted her to Waverly’s presence, letting her in, Waverly wrapping her arms around her waist, determined never to let her go. 

Heading upstairs to the kitchen, wearing a top to cover the offending mark on her neck, she slipped into her confident act while wanting nothing more than to fall to pieces in Waverly’s arms. “Are you going to tell me?” Waverly asked, sipping a peppermint tea.

“Nothing to tell. I have an assignment. I’ll be away for a few days.”

“I thought you were on leave. You said you’ve got two weeks. I was hoping to go see that ring of yours.”

“We will, I promise. You really don’t have to accept it if you want something else.”

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t want me to have it.”

Nicole lifted her glass to her lips, the smell of whiskey unpleasant, reminding her of the past twenty four hours. “I’ve left it to you, so you can’t say that.”

Waverly’s eyes were on Nicole’s face. “Where are you off to?”

“Can’t say. M decided I was to go.”

“So, you’re back on the Widow case.”

“A different one. She’s taken me off the Widow.”

“Who’s handling the Widow?”

Nicole took another sip of whiskey. “No idea. How’s the magazine coming along?”

“Fine. I’ve left my editor in charge. We have the rest of the evening to do what you wanted to do to me in the bathroom. God, that was so sexy.”

Nicole failed to stop the micro movement in her eyes. “That will have to wait till I get back.”

“Okay, spill. You have never, repeat never turned down an offer. What’s going on?”

Nicole put down her glass. “I’m not in the mood.”

Waverly snorted, placing her own mug down, removing her suit jacket, her fingers finding the buttons of her cream blouse, slowly unfastening each one from the top down, her eyes remaining on Nicole the whole time. “Well, I am in the mood. You had better come over here and do things to me, otherwise I’ll never speak to you again.”

Nicole remained the other side of the breakfast island. “Waverly, I can’t. When I get back.” Waverly continued her striptease, extracting her arms from her blouse, letting it fall to the floor. Her hands on the clasp of her bra, it all became too much for Nicole. “I can’t. I just can’t, okay,” she snapped.

“Babes, I’m sorry,” Waverly replied, her expression changing from seductive to one of shock.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”

“Nicole, you’re scaring me.”

Nicole’s hand shook as she lifted her glass once more, gulping the bitter liquid. “I’m sorry. Look, you’d better go.”

“Can you not talk to me? Something’s bothering you. I know you.”

Grabbing the neck of her top, pulling it down to reveal the mark she received from a stranger, she knew she was being deliberately cruel. “This. Happy.”

“Where? Who? Who gave that to you? Oh God, the Widow.”

Nicole released her hand from her clothing. “As good as.”

“It’s…it’s okay. It’s okay. Were you worried I'd be cross?”

“I feel dirty.”

“I don’t mind. I know it’s your job.”

“Of course you fucking mind,” Nicole yelled. “I’d mind if someone did this to you.”

“Stop shouting. It won’t help.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“This isn’t you.”

“And, stop saying that. This is who you’re marrying. A cheap slut, who ends up in someone’s bed.”

Waverly retrieved her blouse from the floor, no longer sure she wanted to stay, holding back tears. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work.”

“Waves, I’m sorry. Things are messed up that’s all.”

“I know, but this isn’t fair. Taking whatever you’re going through out on me. Locking me out.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Nicole replied. 

“You have a choice how you treat me.”

Nicole blinked repeatedly, holding back, holding back. “You’re right. I’m being a jerk.”

“You are. Can you not hold me at least.”

Wrapping her arms around Waverly, she let the sadness rise to the surface, no longer caring to keep it bottled inside. “I’ll make this right.”

“No, no. We make this right. You don’t have to carry this on your own.” Pulling away from Nicole’s embrace, Waverly took her hand. “Let me love you.”

Lying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms Nicole felt safe once more. “I should have told you.”

“You should,” Waverly replied, pouting, a finger tracing a circular pattern over Nicole’s stomach. “I know you wouldn’t cheat on me. It’s not who you are. However you got that mark is not important, because it’s what you have to do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“See, you thought if you pushed me away you could deal with this on your own.”

“No. I merely…am I that transparent?”

Waverly moved her finger up towards Nicole’s right breast, softly circling, pleased as her lover let out a whimper. “Completely.”

“I’ve done some stupid things lately.”

“Like trying to dump me, repeatedly. Really stupid.”

“Yep, really stupid. I’m stuck with you aren’t I.”

“Forever. And ever, and ever. Not getting out of this now.”

“Oh really,” Nicole replied, pinning Waverly to the bed. “And, why would I want to?”

Waverly struggled to get free. “God, I love it when you do that.”

Nicole laughed. “You’re mine, all mine. You must do what I say.”

“Never. You can’t force me to taste you. Again.”

“It’s my turn. I think we’ll just tie those pretty little hands of yours before we start.” Waverly's body suddenly tensed. “No, no, Waves, I won’t, it’s okay. I won’t. God, I’m an idiot.”

“I…I don’t mind. You can. I’ll have to get over it eventually.”

Nicole released her grip, letting Waverly sit up, watching her bring her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. What was I thinking?”

“It’s fine. Just my thoughts. It might help if you did it.” Waverly held out her wrists. “Not too tight.”

Nicole couldn’t bring herself to do the deed. “We’ll wait. We have the rest of our lives to do that.”

“Could I tie you up?” Waverly asked, innocently. “That might help too.”

Nicole let out a laugh. “Oh Waves, of course you can.”

Sitting on a private plane, ready to take off for Vienna, J was busy reading through his notes. Nicole gazed out the window as the roar of the engine increased, the wheels bumping along the runway, the nose tilting upwards as they left the ground. “I hate flying,” J commented, returning to his reading material. “You’ll have a microphone on you and your tracker will be active while in the field.”

“She’s ex-MI6. The Widow.”

J nodded. “M filled me in.”

“How do we defeat her?”

"The Widow, or M."


	18. Brazil

Nicole stared at J. “The Widow.”

“M believes the Widow has a weakness for you.”

“And, Cleo Clanton. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

J looked up from the papers in his hand, considering Nicole’s question for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. I thought you liked using everything you had.”

“What? I do not like using my body to get the job done. I may flaunt it, I may tease, but that’s it. Have you ever known me to go all the way? I’ll answer that for you. Never, I’ve never gone beyond that line.”

“OOH, may I make an observation.”

“You may. But if you tell me I need to do something I don’t want to do.”

“That would be a command. You seem ill at ease that another would find you attractive. We cannot choose who admires us.”

“A terrorist, that’s who. A terrorist who is part of a bigger terrorist organisation. And, a banker who’s as dirty as they come.”

“Her mother.”

“Whose mother?”

“Margot Clanton is the prize. Her daughter is a lesser player.”

“So it’s okay for me to bed her. Great, thanks for clarifying.”

J sighed. “Are you premenstrual?”

Nicole gasped. “What? I can’t believe you…you just.”

“I do find you a little more emotional than usual. I’m attempting to work out why.”

“I’m not emotional,” Nicole snapped. “Have you ever had to prostitute yourself? Answer me that. Have you?”

“I’m not an intelligence officer,” J replied. “I fail to see why your liaison with Miss Clanton is causing you to have this outburst.”

“That’s it, give me my gun.”

“Shooting me will achieve little, other than kill me and everyone on this plane. Not the wisest of choices.”

“Are you here just to torment me? Is that why M sent you? Just to make sure I went completely mad.”

“I volunteered. I’m missing a bridge night as a consequence.”

“Sorry.”

“My partner isn’t particularly pleased, but one has to make sacrifices for this job.”

Nicole looked at J, unable to stop herself from laughing. “Indeed, sacrifices.”

Their hotel was a short distance from the Schönbrunn Palace where the ball was to be held. Nicole stood by the window gazing at the backs of buildings, this particular hotel not to her liking, certainly not one she would take Waverly. There were other five-star hotels in Vienna in which she would have preferred to stay, but J had chosen this one because of its location and history. 

Sending Waverly a quick text to let her know she had landed, she set about making herself beautiful for the night ahead. A long bath helped ease the tension in her muscles, taking time to apply make-up, cursing at having to cover over the mark on her neck. Unzipping the dress bag J brought with him she pulled out the dress chosen for her to wear that evening, rolling her eyes. Versace, black with oversized, crystal-encrusted safety pins accentuating the shoulders and a sexy thigh split, a dress begging for attention. 

It fitted perfectly, the matching evening bag and shoes showing off her outfit, making her way to the hotel lobby, ignoring the drooling men who had the privilege of seeing her dressed for sex. J was there in a waiter’s outfit, busy on his phone as she approached, not blinking an eye on seeing her in the dress. “The microphone is in the right shoulder pin,” he said as she sat opposite. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to keep your gun. Tight security at the palace.”

“I wouldn’t shoot her. Where will you be?”

“Serving drinks.”

Nicole grinned. “The sacrifices we make for this job.”

“I’ll have you know I was a bartender while at Oxford. Shall we, our carriage awaits.”

A limousine was waiting outside the hotel to take them to an event that could change Nicole’s life. Pulling up within walking distance of the palace, J jumped out heading off in the direction of the staff entrance leaving Nicole to enter the event alone. An invite in her hand, left in the brown envelope by the woman she nearly strangled, she made her way into the venue. 

No sign of the Widow, she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, milling with the gathered elite of Austria, wondering if she could simply drink herself into oblivion. “So delicious,” a voice said behind her, Nicole instantly recognising who it was. “Miss me?”

“Of course,” Nicole replied, turning to face the Widow. “With my gun.”

“I hear my little Cleo tried to enjoy what is mine. Naughty, naughty.”

Nicole lifted the champagne flute to her lips, wishing she could scream at the top of her lungs she was nobody’s possession. “I really should have shot you the last time we met.”

The Widow laughed, raising her own glass. “But you didn’t and here we are. Playing M’s game. Does she think I can be bought by a bauble? Admittedly, a delicious bauble, one I would gladly pay the price to have.”

“I’m not for sale.”

“Oh, but you are. Look at you, being offered to me like a sacrificial lamb.”

Nicole’s eyes flickered, enough for the Widow to know she had her attention. “I know who you are,” Nicole replied, attempting to move the game back in her favour.

“Was. Come, I have a surprise for you.”

The Widow led the way, escorted by six bodyguards, all built to withstand a punch, clearly packing guns. A room had been laid out to allow a small group to dine, specifically two, the Widow waiting for Nicole to take a seat, waving her hand at a waiter to pour the wine. Nicole could have hugged J seeing him fill her glass first, then the Widow’s. Taking a sip, nodding her head in agreement, she placed her glass back on the table. “Tell me what you want?”

The Widow waved her hand again for everyone to leave, waiting for the door to close. “Do you trust M?”

“Should I?” Nicole replied.

“Do you know she killed the one I loved?”

Nicole’s hand went to her glass, taking another mouthful of wine, cheaper than she would normally drink, but sufficient to get her through whatever this was. “I didn’t. You and M.”

“She was everything to me.”

“M?”

The Widow lifted her own glass, letting the liquid pass her lips. “M was something else. Ambitious, impetuous, righteous. Arrested twice for being drunk. Correction, once for being drunk, another for exposing herself in front of the Houses of Parliament.”

Nicole stifled a laugh. “Naughty M. Also, not an image I want to think about.”

“She plays whatever side works for her.”

“I’m not like her.”

“Nor am I,” the Widow replied. “I chose a different side, not because of who I am, but what it represented.”

Nicole had had enough. “I’m not…I’m never joining your side.”

“It would disappoint me if you suddenly did. I want you, there is no denying that, but only if you come willingly. Oh my, to hear that would be so delicious.”

“Whatever this is I’m not part of the game.”

“My, my, did M not teach you anything. She knows you will resist, will fight the inevitable. Do you think this is all because of you?”

“I will not fuck you.”

The Widow lowered her eyes to Nicole’s chest. “Oh, but you will. You will fall for me and scream my name from your lips. As M did once.”

“In your dreams.”

“M thinks you will be my downfall, my one weakness where you can whisper in my ear how bad I’ve been. Naughty me. I agree, I would do things just to please you if you were mine.”

“I can’t be a part of your life.”

“Choices. M wants you, I want you. Who will win? Shall we feast here, or would you like to enjoy the ball?”

Leaving their private room, Nicole looked out over the gathered throng, knowing she was part of something that could easily move the pendulum of power one way or the other. If she chose to remain a British spy she would deal with situations in one way to save the monarchy, save whatever Britain stood for. If she chose the path of the Widow she would alienate herself from all she believed to be true. Except, M had dangled that before her. What if JOSHUA was the way forward?

Returning to her hotel room, more shaken than ever before, she knew this was yet another danger of what she did. It had been drummed into new MI6 officers to resist the temptation to follow another path, one that didn’t fit with their role as a spy for the British government. There was no way she would ever abandon her country for whatever the Widow might offer. Never. Never. She would never do that. Never.

The time on her phone told her it was a little after midnight in London. Her text to Waverly was short, simply saying all was good. “Hi,” Waverly said, sounding sleepy. 

“Hi, it’s late.”

“Miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

“Marmaduke says hi.”

“Brazil.”

“I could have sworn he came from Harrods.”

“Do you fancy eloping to Brazil?”

“With Marmaduke. I’ll ask him. He says yes. You need to buy me that white bikini, remember.”

“I love you.”

“Marmaduke loves you too. Everything okay?”

Nicole paused. “How was I so lucky to have found you?”

“My darling, I wonder that too. About you,” Waverly added, laughing. “Father mentioned you need to wear slightly more around the house. I’ve no idea what he means.”

“Ah yes, didn’t realise he was there. Kind of caught me au natural.”

“Nicole! And now I’m awake. Mentioned the whiskey pixie has been at work too.”

“Where would you like me to take you next?”

“Well, my office bathroom for a start.”

“Waves! Okay, where else?”

“I may have, kind of started looking at honeymoon destinations…you don’t have to agree.”

“Tell me.”

“Bora Bora One looks amazing. Soneva Jani too, oh and Olarro Kenya.”

“And, where would you like to get married?”

“Chalfield, or Cassillis, depending on the time of year. Where would you like?”

“Either. Chalfield is more homely, has more furniture which would be useful.”

“True. This is really happening. Do we start planning?”

“We start planning.”

A knock on her door interrupted their call. “Love you. Need to go.” J was outside, still dressed as a waiter, hesitant to enter Nicole’s room. “Come in. I’m guessing you’re here to discuss the Widow.” J remained outside, uncomfortable to step into Nicole’s bedroom. “We can’t talk in the corridor.”

J entered, sitting on the chair by the desk, even more uncomfortable as Nicole crawled onto the bed. “The Widow has stated her intentions for you. M knew by not killing you when she had the chance she would try to woo you.”

“Woo me. And M’s happy with one of her agents being wooed?”

“Extremely happy. She wants you to continue resisting any and all advances, until such time as we can establish how to neutralise JOSHUA.”

“I don’t think M will want that.”

J tilted her head. “She specifically instructed you were to entertain the Widow. She was clear on that.”

“JOSHUA. She thinks it’s the way forward.”

“I’m at a loss as to what you mean.”

“Forget it. My problem not yours.”

Another knock on the door made both jump. Nicole ushered J into the bathroom, opening the door, a porter holding out a cream-coloured envelope, bowing slightly as she took it from him. Inside was a handwritten card, thanking Nicole for her presence at the ball, inviting her to lunch the next day at a private address in another part of the city. The Widow suggested she wear the same dress, Nicole flatly refusing despite J’s encouragement.

“What if I don’t go?”

“You have little choice in the matter,” J replied.


	19. Brand

Nicole placed the dress back in its travel bag, determined not to wear it the next day, wondering if that was what the Widow actually wanted her to do. Perhaps it was a little test simply to see what she might wear and whether she would resist. In that case, maybe she should wear the dress. Furious at having to double guess everything, she climbed into bed, consoling herself with Waverly’s sexy video, watching it until her mind cleared of nothing but the sound of her name leaving her lover’s lips.

An early breakfast, a quick workout in the hotel gym, she was back in time for her lunch date, donning a pale grey suit over a black silk blouse. J tutted when he saw her. “I’m not wearing it,” she said, sipping her cocktail.

“I presume you neglected to remove the microphone.”

Nicole opened her blouse to reveal the tiniest of mics now attached to a red bra, J studying it carefully. “See, I’m a big girl. And, not premenstrual.”

“The range on the mic is not far. Fifty metres at best.”

“Great. So, you won’t be able to hear me being wooed by an international terrorist.”

“Wrong. I will follow at a discreet distance and hopefully be within range.”

“Am I allowed to bring my toys with me?”

J shook his head. “No guns, M’s orders.”

“She really doesn’t trust me, does she?”

“It’s a question of letting this play out.”

“Which means I’m not trusted to keep my finger off the trigger.”

“May I remind you, you were released from police custody having nearly strangled a stranger.”

“I was stressed.”

J stared at her. “I do the Times crossword when I’m frustrated. I find it helps.”

“Must remember that,” Nicole replied. “Next time I’m up against a target pointing something at me. Four down, rhymes with fun.”

“The Times is a little more cerebral than that.”

A member of staff approached informing Nicole a car was waiting outside the hotel. “Well, this is it, two across, mucking fuddle. Don’t lose me.”

“I have a scooter on rent. I’m fairly good at navigating these streets.”

Nicole finished her cocktail, adjusting her suit, heading out into the unknown. The car took them through the centre of Vienna, the sun shining, people going about their everyday business, coming to a stop outside a large building in the very heart of the city, the driver getting out to open the door. “Penthouse apartment,” he instructed, returning to the car.

Finding the intercom Nicole announced her presence, a guy with a deep voice telling her to take the lift to the top where she would be met. Assessing the street, noting how easy, or difficult it might be to escape from an apartment with only a lift for access, she checked for stairs finding them behind the third door. Reaching the top floor the elevator opened onto a lobby, a large door directly ahead. No sign of the stairs reaching this high up, Nicole assuming access must be on the floor below.

A bodyguard let her in, one of the guys with the Widow the previous evening, Nicole quickly taking in the layout, following to an outside terrace where the Widow was relaxing in a pool. From what she could see her host was wearing nothing on her top half, her arms draped over the side, her head tilted upwards to catch the sun. “Not as good as the Mediterranean, but one must take what one is given. Won’t you join me?”

“No thanks,” Nicole replied, turning to take in the view over the city. “Good location.”

“A trifle. A friend’s. I’m using it while I’m here.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes. I must insist you join me. The water is deliciously warm.”

“I’ll sit this one out.”

The Widow motioned with her head, her bodyguard removing a gun from his holster holding it against Nicole’s back. “You see, some things are non-negotiable. There’s a bikini in the changing room. A white one, put it on.”

Nicole folded her arms. “Really not doing this.”

The Widow rose from the water, Nicole thankful she at least had on the bottom part of a bikini. “We can do this dance, or I can have my men teach you a lesson. Your choice.”

Nicole remained defiant. “I thought that was my choice, yes, or no.”

“On this occasion, you only have yes. I need to see my investment.”

The Widow nodded, a bodyguard grabbing Nicole’s arms, kicking her in the leg to make her kneel. “I’m not putting it on,” Nicole hissed.

“How delicious,” the Widow said, nodding again at her goons, Nicole receiving a knee to her back. “Now, what shall we do to knock this naughtiness out of you? I know, how about a nice little mark, something discreet. Lower back where only I will see it.”

Nicole struggled with all her might, pinned against the decking, the weight of the knee remaining on her back making it difficult to breathe. 

The Widow watched, letting Nicole know she needed to comply. “A simple request and you would rather I brand you. What a foolish girl you are.”

Someone was pulling at her jacket, removing her blouse from her pants. “Don’t,” Nicole hissed, the knee digging deeper into her ribs. “Don’t.”

“I do not like too much defiance. Proceed.”

Another bodyguard appeared brandishing what looked like a small poker, the end of which was glowing red. Disappearing from view Nicole could feel her skin being exposed ready to receive whatever the Widow had chosen to sear into her body. “Okay, okay.”

The Widow clapped her hands. “There’s a good girl. Run along and try it on, I’m dying to see what it looks like on you.”

The weight on her back was removed, Nicole taking a moment to steady her breathing, glaring at the Widow as she stood, pulling down her blouse and jacket. Returning a few minutes later now wearing the bikini, the Widow looked on in delight. “Oh my, I’m going to enjoy you. Such a fine form and so well-toned. “Gosh, what a waste on that publishing bitch.”

Nicole entered the water still incensed at having been made to parade herself in front of this evil witch, staying as far away as she could from her tormentor. “I really should have killed you when I had the chance.”

The Widow moved through the water, placing hands on Nicole’s hips, pleased with the reaction from the one she would have disfigured but a few moments before. “That’s better. I like a fighter. I love the look in your eyes, trying to work all this out, trying to work out the different sides. What do you know about JOSHUA?”

Nicole removed the Widow’s hands. “You tell me.”

The Widow smirked, bringing a hand to Nicole’s stomach, feeling her muscles twitch under her fingers. “Good, good, now what if I go lower, what then?”

“Don’t.”

“Naughty. This is my pool, I get to play,” the Widow replied, one finger on the edge of Nicole’s bikini bottom, pulling it away from her body.

Without thinking Nicole grabbed the Widow by the throat, forcing her backwards under the water, holding her there until one of her bodyguards pulled her off, the Widow gasping for air. “Take her inside,” the Widow croaked, feeling her neck, watching as Nicole was dragged from the pool.

Handcuffed to a chair, dripping water on the wooden floor, the Widow appeared wearing a robe, marching over to Nicole, slapping her hard across the face. “We do not do that, you hear.”

“So much for wooing me.”

Another slap to the face. “I’ve a good mind to kill you right here. Would you like that? Would your pretty little girlfriend like that?”

“She’s my fiancé,” Nicole replied, wishing she hadn’t offered that information.

A third slap to the face told her she had crawled under the Widow’s skin. “You belong to me. Perhaps I eliminate the Earp heir. Although, her father. No, we play nicely. Now, I asked you a question.”

“I know it’s some sick terrorist group, wanting to shift power.”

“Is that so? Anything else?”

“You’re recruiting other sick bitches to do your dirty work.”

“Oh, no, no. I do not run JOSHUA. I’ve merely been invited to play. To spice things up a little.”

“So, you tell me what JOSHUA is,” Nicole said, moving her jaw a little, the Widow’s slap powerful.

“It’s the future. And, those who recognise it as such are lurking in the shadows waiting. Now, let me see, what photo shall we send your ex-girlfriend? How about me taking you on the bed. Oh, oh, a video, with you saying my name.”

Nicole pulled at the restraints, unable to get her hands in a position where she might be able to release them. “Fine, just get it over with. I’ll play your stupid game.”

“What? I thought you would definitely baulk at me tormenting your little girlfriend. Maybe I have the wrong one. Maybe it’s Waverly I should be seeking to enjoy.”

“You can have me. You win. Do what you want with me.”

“Oh, there’s so much I want to do to you. Another time perhaps, I’m bored. Release her.”

Nicole rubbed her wrists, unsure if she was about to be killed, or sent on her way. Her clothes thrown in a pile on the floor, a row of bodyguards ogling her, she looked around for somewhere to change. “A little privacy, please.”

The Widow pointed to one of the doors. “Use that room.”

Gathering up her belongings, heading to the room, she viewed the large bed, shuddering once the door closed guessing this must be where the Widow slept. Knowing she had little time, she removed the microphone from her bra, hiding it on the back of the fabric headboard, dressing as quickly as she could. Emerging from the room, still smelling of chlorine, she dangled the wet costume in front of the Widow. “For next time.”

“I’ll look forward to it. I’ll be watching.”

Leaving the apartment, wanting to throw up in the lift, she exited the building walking as fast as she could, not knowing where to go, or what her job entailed any more. Could she have killed the Widow with her bare hands? Yes. Did she intend to? Yes. Would she have done so in the past? Yes. The only thing stopping her was Waverly, knowing Waverly would receive the news of her disappearance, probably her murder at the hands of the Widow’s henchmen, her body found somewhere, if at all. 

Would she have let the Widow brand her had she not been with Waverly? Yes. She already had one scar on her hip. Another on her lower back made little difference, but for Waverly, who would have to look at it every single day for the rest of her life knowing that was the handiwork of the Widow, the one who had abducted her, pointed a gun at her, made her believe her life was about to be ended.

A horn sounded behind her, J pulling up, offering her a helmet. “I should be able to carry us both.”

“I’m not that heavy. That was intense.”

“I lost you, unfortunately.”

“Bikini. Thought it best not to get the mic wet.”

“Good thinking. Not entirely sure of its reception if waterlogged. Must research that.”

“I’ve left it in the apartment.”

“A pity. Still, might give us something.”

“Doubt it. Out of range. And, no I’m not going back any time soon.”

“Anything to report?”

“Other than she’s crazy. Nope. Nearly killed her with my bare hands.”

“OOH, you were under orders not to.”

“She annoyed me. Mentioned Waverly’s father.”

“M has removed Waverly’s MI6 agent.”

“What? She promised to keep her safe. I’m only doing this to protect Waverly.”

“Her regular driver is out of hospital.”

“He can’t protect her.”


	20. Brittle

Heading to the airport she called Waverly’s number. “Pick up, pick up. Hi, how’s it going?”

“Fine. Where are you?”

“Is Nigel with you?”

“No why?”

“Someone has to be with you.”

Waverly giggled. “I don’t think he needs to be in the bathroom while I’m showering. I'd rather it was you.”

“Why are you showering this time of day?”

“Another boring magazine launch. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Firstly yes. Second, why are you suddenly managing my diary?”

“What time is the function?”

“Six. Nigel’s checked out the venue.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Will you be back in time?”

“I should be. Don’t go without me. I’ll come to your father’s.”

“I’m at my place. With Marmaduke. I kind of borrowed him. I’ll give him back, I promise.”

“Waves. Okay, wait for me.”

Still in the suit she wore for her less-than successful lunch with the Widow, she left the airport in a cab headed to Waverly’s. Arriving with minutes to spare she hugged her fiancé, wishing they weren’t going anywhere that evening, wishing they could spend the night wrapped in each other’s arms making love, letting the rest of the world go to hell. “Hey, I missed you too,” Waverly said. “But, you’ll ruin my make-up.”

“Do we have to go?”

“Unfortunately yes. Father is looking to position our magazine against a rival publisher. Everyone who’s anyone will be there this evening.”

“What if I smear chocolate over these,” Nicole offered, pointing to her chest. “And, you get to lick it off.”

“Oh God, don’t. That’s now in my head. So naughty.”

Nicole tensed. “Can you not use that word?”

“You are naughty. I should spank you.”

Nicole pulled away. “We’d better get going.”

“Hey, we can be naughty later.”

“Please don’t.”

“I could be naughty too. So deliciously naughty.”

“I said don’t,” Nicole hissed, pushing Waverly against the wall, pinning her there, her hand shaking as she brought it to Waverly’s neck. “Just don’t.” The fear in Waverly’s eyes told her she had gone too far. “I…I. I can’t.”

Turning, walking out of Waverly’s house, she knew it had all become too much. The one she loved was now the one she made afraid. The circle complete. Or, the square. Waverly, the Widow, M and herself locked in a dance that would end with someone getting hurt, really hurt, dying.

Waverly was calling her. “You do not walk away.”

“I nearly…”

“We both need help dealing with this.”

“I’m fine. Go to your function.”

“I can’t do this without you,” Waverly said. “I know you’re scared, I know you’re doing things you wouldn’t do, but don’t fight me too. Please, I’m begging you.”

Nicole felt the wave overtake her, dragging her down listening to Waverly’s pleas. “I love you so much.”

“Then stay with me. Just tonight. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” Nicole replied through her own tears. “I don’t know any more. What if I snap?”

“You won’t. Nicole please.”

Standing outside Waverly’s once more, tears flowing while holding each other they realised they wouldn’t be going anywhere that night. As the soft morning light entered Waverly’s bedroom, Nicole held Waverly in her arms, wanting nothing more than to stay like that forever. “Father’s going to be annoyed I missed the event,” Waverly said, stroking Nicole’s arm. “And, I’ll have to work out how to get chocolate off these sheets.”

“I thought you had a cleaner?”

“Gave her notice in. I’ve a new lady starting tomorrow.”

Nicole’s body tensed. “Is she vetted?”

“Relax, she cleans Wyn’s house.”

Nicole let out a sigh. “I’m just on edge at the moment.”

Waverly wriggled her body to face Nicole. “I know. Guide me, let me help you.”

“Has your father ever mentioned Joshua?”

“Joshua. Joshua. No, why? Should he?”

“No. Forget it. How about we get breakfast by the river.”

“I need to get to the office. There’s a creative meeting at eight.”

“What if I meet you for lunch?”

“Fine. Although, I’ve a one o’clock meeting with the designers. Can you come early, say eleven.”

“I’d come anytime for you.”

“Nicole! You know there’s a few in my office who think you’re gorgeous. Want to put you on the front cover of the first edition.”

“I don’t think MI6 would approve. Sexy spy, welcome to my world.”

“Oh wow, yes. That’s such a good line.”

“Waves, really isn’t going to happen.”

“You with your gun. Versace, a little black number. Oh God, I can see you now.”

Nicole forced her body to remain relaxed, realising the Widow’s mind messing was what triggered her overreaction with Waverly the previous evening. “I think we’re supposed to be under the radar.”

“I know. I’m merely dreaming. I need to shower and get going.”

“Sounds perfect, I’ll join you.”

A text from J was waiting for her when she emerged from Waverly’s bathroom, suggesting she meet him at MI6. Arriving she spotted Xavier with him, the pair deep in conversation about cricket. “Hello stranger,” Xavier said as she entered J’s office. “I hear you’re back on with the Widow.”

“So much for being on a forced holiday. Where have you been?”

“Clanton’s. Following a few leads.”

“Anything of interest?”

Xavier looked at J, who nodded. “Waverly’s father. His name has come up in several communications as someone JOSHUA has their eye on.”

“The Widow said something in passing. I wasn’t sure what she meant.”

“He’s not directly linked,” J added. “At least, I haven’t found one yet. But, given who he is and the influence of his media empire I’m not surprised.”

“If he was linked, Waverly wouldn’t have been taken,” Nicole replied. 

J’s forehead creased. “Although, if they wanted to send a message, get him to consider his options they might have.”

“M said Waverly’s abduction was an oversight, a tactical error.”

“But, by who?” J questioned. 

“M. It had to be M.”

“That’s crazy,” Xavier interrupted. “There’s no way M’s involved.”

Nicole looked at J. “Do you want to tell him?” 

“M and the Black Widow were in a relationship. Ex-MI6, left when her relationship with a known target was revealed. M was tasked with bringing her in, but killed the Widow’s lover in the process.”

“M and the Black Widow," Xavier repeated. "You’re telling me M knows the Widow.”

“Yep, as in really knows,” Nicole replied.

“That’s crazy. How is she allowed to remain on the mission? She’s compromised.”

“Yep, really compromised.”

“I’m…well, that’s-

“Crazy, yep. No one knew what was in my letter to Waverly. Except one. Not even Waverly knew.”

“I don’t follow. What’s that got to do with M?”

“The letter in the event of our death. I left everything to her.”

“And, you think M told the Widow. That’s crazy.”

“It’s not. It makes sense only if someone who knew told the Widow.”

“I did wonder how Waverly ended up on that island. That didn’t make sense. I’m struggling to understand what M would gain by feeding information to the Widow.”

“Me too. She said JOSHUA is the way forward. Maybe she’s helping the Widow.”

“That’s…I’ve got to stop saying that’s crazy. But, okay, okay. J what do you think?”

“I think it highly unlikely M is working with or for the Widow. However, I agree with OOH, there are elements of this which clearly do not add up.”

“I wish I’d asked the Widow while I was trying to drown her.” J and Xavier both stared at her. “What?”

“We’ve talked about this OOH,” J replied. 

A knock on J’s door interrupted their conversation. “M would like to see you OOH,” the assistant said, her eyes lowered, glancing up only momentarily, her cheeks reddening.

M was busy sending an email as she entered, motioning for her to take a seat. “How did your meetings go with the Widow?”

“Swimmingly,” Nicole replied. 

“I’ll expect your report on my desk by the end of the day.”

“She tried to brand me.”

M stopped typing, looking directly at Nicole. “Brand?”

“I refused to wear a bikini.”

“Do you deliberately set out to antagonize?”

Nicole snorted. “Brand me, as in cattle, ranch, and you’re worried about me annoying her.”

“I know what branding is,” M snapped. “Your one task was to ingratiate yourself. I thought even you understood what was required.”

“Why did you remove Waverly’s MI6 agent?”

“No longer required.”

“The Widow is still after her. Imagine what Waverly’s father will say when she’s taken again.”

“That won’t happen. I can assure you.”

“Way too confident.”

“Are you questioning me OOH?”

“Should I?”

“I’m referring you for assessment pending release from service with MI6. You have become a liability.”

The relief at hearing she might finally be leaving all this behind almost made her lean across the desk and kiss M on both cheeks. “Look forward to it,” was all she could say as she stood to leave.

“I’ve not finished with you,” M shouted. “You nearly eliminated a target through your impulsiveness. I chose you because you were the right person for this, both in terms of leading a team and carrying out my orders. Something has changed in you and not for the better.”

Nicole bit her lip, wanting to say she hadn’t joined MI6 to be a prostitute, or be branded, or have her lover tied to the next chair about to be executed by a crazy former British spy. She said nothing, waiting to be dismissed.

Returning home, a brown envelope awaited her on the mat, her mother’s handwriting on the front explaining she had delivered the ring and couldn’t wait to see it on Waverly’s hand. Calling her mother, thanking her for the gesture she hurried to get ready to meet Waverly, bringing the ring with her, hoping she would like it. Considering all the conversations and arguments they had had about this one token of love, simply to have it in their presence was a step forward.

Walking to a bar near Waverly’s office, a light lunch chosen from the menu, Nicole slid the black box across the table. “This is to get Marmaduke back,” she said, Waverly opening the ring box gasping at what was inside. “We can choose another, but I want my teddy.”

The ring fitted perfectly. “It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful. Nicole you can’t. I love it.”

“You’re not just saying that.”

Waverly moved her hand in the air, admiring the ring. “It’s absolutely what I would choose. Your grandmother had great taste.”

“I was wondering, now I’m leaving the job, maybe we could take some time visiting all those honeymoon locations.”

Waverly removed her gaze from the ring. “You mean M’s letting you go. That’s all I want. That would be a honeymoon in itself. What will do after you leave?”

“Haven’t given it much thought. I’m to be assessed, which given what happened on the platform…anyway, I should be able to convince them to retire me.”

“Platform?”

“Had an argument with someone.”

“Are spies not meant to do that?”

“Waves! No we’re not meant to. I’m a little too hot for what I’m doing.”

“I may need to see someone,” Waverly said, not looking at Nicole. “I’m having more dreams.”

“I may have to join you. I should never have reacted the way I did the other night. That was unforgivable.”

Waverly reached across the table, placing a hand on top of Nicole’s. “We’ve both been through a lot. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’ve let things get to me. I’ve let it take over. Once I’m out I won’t have to worry about any of it.”

“I’d like to get married at Cassillis.”

“No furniture.”

“We’ll get furniture. What if we make it our home?”

Nicole’s eyes filled. “Did I tell you I loved you?”

“You may have, once or twice. And, I love you the future Mrs Earp.”

“Oh really, the future Mrs Haught.”

“I nearly forgot. Joshua, I’ve heard my father mention him.”


	21. Bridge

“Joshua, really,” Nicole replied, her expression remaining neutral, realising she should never have mentioned the name to Waverly. 

“Meets with someone at his club. Says it’s all hush hush.”

“Where will we get the furniture for Cassillis?”

“Oh, yes. Well, I was thinking maybe we move in, renovate, I start the café in the coach house.”

“You really want to run a café, don’t you.”

“So do. I want to make jam and our own wine.”

“We’re talking Scotland. Not entirely sure we’d get a crop of grape that far north. Or strawberries for that matter.”

“No, silly. We could have our own label. Chateau Cassillis. I don’t know. And, weddings and events.”

“What about here?”

“Here?”

“The magazine. Your father’s business.”

“I’d do that too. You would have to help me. I know, you could give guided tours. Haunted house evenings.”

“Sounds ideal. We could hold an engagement party at Chalfield, or my parent’s house.”

“Both. Charlotte is dying to have dinner with us, now we’re back together."

“Any plans for this evening?”

“Marmaduke and I are eloping. You?”

Nicole grinned. “He’s mine. In a custody battle he’d be given to me.”

“We can go halves,” Waverly teased.

“Not Marmie. You can’t do this to me. Okay, you can keep him.”

Waverly’s phone buzzed with a message from her office. “Sorry, meeting brought forward. Honestly, they really could start without me. I should be home seven latest.”

“Which home?” Nicole asked, as Waverly kissed her goodbye.

“Mine. Father’s. Yours. The moon. I’ll let you know. Stop looking so cute. I'll call, I promise.”

Nicole finished her lunch, even more curious as to who Waverly’s father was in contact with. Maybe that’s why he’s been off with me, she wondered, although he's always been a little disapproving of our relationship, never saying anything directly. The first time she met Waverly’s father was at Chalfield, at a family Christmas gathering, Nicole invited to stay the weekend, separate rooms, not that it stopped Waverly from sneaking into hers once she knew everyone had gone to bed. Not that it stopped Wynonna passing a less-than subtle comment the next day.

Waverly’s mother was delightful, much like her own mother, making a fuss of Nicole, offering more trifle which she accepted even though she was on a strict diet and in training for races with her rowing team. It took Waverly stepping in to stop her mother offering Nicole a third bowl of dessert, explaining she would sink the boat if she had any more, much to Wynonna’s amusement. 

As an only child the noise and merriment of Waverly’s home drew her even more to the family, Nicole’s own house quieter, her father not one for spontaneous laughter. She often wondered what her mother saw in her father, her mother being the more sociable of the two, the one Nicole took after. She assumed it was the naval uniform until her mother let slip her father was a very good dancer and she needed a partner to attend a ball, friends of her mother’s parents suggesting Nicole’s father as someone who might accompany her. 

Nicole was not one for dancing, preferring sport over ballet, as Waverly had witnessed at Cassillis, Nicole’s awkward movements with Ros amusing to watch, her gangly legs getting in the way of each other. A waitress approached, Nicole asking for the bill, the young woman returning with a slip of paper and a brown envelope. “Someone at the door asked me to hand this to you,” she said, the smile disappearing from her face as Nicole grabbed it rudely from her.

“Who?”

“A man. Do you want me to wait while you pay?”

“What? Yes,” Nicole snapped. “Sorry, yes please.”

Settling the bill, ripping open the envelope once the waitress had moved away, the card inside simply read. “I’ll be watching.”

Turning over the card the photo on the front was of Maybole, the town closest to Cassillis, Nicole staring at it knowing it was from the Widow, knowing she wanted to fuck her mind as much as she wanted to fuck her body. The question was why? Why go to all this trouble? And, why brown envelopes? She tried to stop herself laughing at the thought of the Widow instructing her people to use only brown envelopes, although she had used a cream one for her handwritten note. 

At a loss what to do for the rest of the afternoon, she returned home to write up her report on her encounters in Vienna, determined to leave nothing out. Satisfied with what she wrote she pressed send, sitting back as the file pinged its way to M. It took no more than five minutes for her phone to buzz, M’s voice angrier than ever, instructing Nicole to retract her report, Nicole refusing. “You have one hour to resubmit your report on the Widow, without accusations as to my involvement.”

“Not happening,” Nicole replied. “File it with the other reports on the Widow. Oh, that’s right you can’t.”

“You are deliberately pushing me.”

“Waverly’s father knows JOSHUA, which apparently is the way forward according to you. I’m being stalked by the Widow who wants to bed me, or brand me, or buy my ancestral home and you’re helping her.”

“Return to the office immediately.”

Nicole sighed. “On holiday, remember.”

“Now,” M roared.

“Wish you’d make up your mind.”

Ending the call, realising she was playing with fire, she sat for a moment contemplating her next move. She was never one for rocking the boat, literally, or metaphorically, except when she believed herself to be in the right, taking a stand, not backing down, stubborn to the point of stupidity. 

She had had enough of M and the Widow’s games, enough of the silly brown envelopes and the threats, and the mind messing. She needed to force everything out into the open, make sense of what was happening, otherwise she would forever be looking over her shoulder wondering if someone was coming after her, or Waverly. And, that was no way to live.

Entering the office outside M’s, her assistant glanced up from her keyboard shaking her head. “She’s really angry this time. Got to hand it to you OOH, you have a way of annoying her I’ve not seen in anyone else.”

“One of my many talents.”

“She takes it out on us when she’s mad at you.”

“I hadn’t realised. Would you like me to really annoy her? I’m good with my tongue.”

The assistant stifled a laugh. “You enjoy it, don’t you?”

“Using my tongue.” The assistant’s cheeks turned crimson. “I’ve been told it gets me out of trouble.”

“And, into. M’s ready for you. May I suggest you keep that tongue of yours inside your mouth?”

Nicole winked, licking her lower lip. “For you, anything. Wish me luck.”

Closing the door Nicole waited to be invited to sit, M continuing to type on her keyboard, ignoring her presence. Pressing the send button, she turned to face Nicole, her face neutral, which unnerved Nicole all the more. “You wanted to see me.”

“Take a seat,” M instructed. “We need to talk.”

Nicole listened as M explained how her relationship with the Widow dissolved under the pressures of the job, how they tried to keep it a secret, but found the burden too great in a job such as theirs. She explained how the Widow had looked for love with an element of danger attached, the thrill of it being illicit, of doing something without being caught. It was the same with the Widow’s other love, knowing she should not bed someone under MI6 surveillance, unable to stop herself. 

“I genuinely believe it’s the danger she craves,” M observed, getting up from her desk, heading to her drinks cabinet, pouring two whiskeys. “She lives for the thrill of the knife’s edge.”

“Why me?” Nicole asked, accepting the drink. “I’m nothing to her, except she won’t let go.”

“She sees me in you,” M replied, bringing the glass to her lips. “I resisted until I fell under her spell.”

“I heard about the Houses of Parliament.”

M winked. “I was younger then. A fool for love. It was a dare.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love her?”

M took another mouthful of her drink. “Pity would be a better word. She was exceptional, like you. As willful. She liked to push to see how far others would go before reacting. Your refusal to wear a bikini was her way of gauging your resistance.”

“I figured that. I’m nothing to her even if she thinks I’m like you.”

“I broke her heart. Twice. She thinks if she gets you to join her it will break mine.”

“That’s crazy. Now I’m sounding like 009. I can't see how going over to the dark side will break your heart. The reverse perhaps. I’m guessing you have party hats in your drawer for just such an occasion.”

The corners of M’s mouth lifted. “OOH, that’s the trouble. As much as you infuriate me, constantly, I do actually find you amusing. You are your own person, unlike a lot of the stuffy bureaucrats I’m forced to work with.”

“I do my best.”

“I would like you to reconsider your resignation.”

Nicole shook her head. “Waverly wants me to make jam in Scotland. She has it all planned out.”

“I need you to help bring me the Widow. She’s made it clear it’s you she wants and we can’t waste that opportunity. In doing this I believe you could help bring down JOSHUA, which would be the biggest service you can do for this country.”

“She may not want to play after my pool performance.”

“If I know anything she’ll want you even more. You defied her.”

“Can I point out I’m technically still on holiday you ordered, which means off the Widow’s case, unless its balls and branding.”

“You see, that’s why,” M replied. “You have a way about you that draws others in. Makes them want to know you.”

“If you've got a bikini in that drawer I’m out of here.”

M laughed, a full belly laugh, unnerving Nicole for a second time. “You will be the death of me, I’m sure. I trust you OOH. Taking you off the Widow’s assignment was the right course of action at the time. However, her pursuing you has made it clear you are my best option.”

“Why did you betray Waverly?”

M’s expression changed to one of remorse. “There are some things I cannot discuss. Waverly should never have been caught up in this. For that, I accept my share of the blame. If an occasion arises, I will explain. For now, it needs to remain with me.”

“It brought us back together,” Nicole offered. “Whatever game this is it gave me another chance. I can’t lose her. It would kill me.”

“I understand. I will protect her, you have my word.”

Nicole finished her drink. “I need more than your word. She is everything to me. If something happens to her.”

“OOH, she is safe.”

As Nicole exited the building she still could not be sure she trusted M. Something didn’t add up, the back and forth on whether or not to go after the Widow was not M’s style. She could tell M was struggling, be that with her conscience, or her duty as the person in charge of MI6. All she knew was M had offered an olive branch to get her back on side, a side Nicole no longer wanted to be part of. 

There had been no mention of her pending assessment, guessing it would be pushed aside until M’s objectives had been met. As she walked across Vauxhall Bridge she knew her own mind was on a knife edge.


	22. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is a little darker than the others. Implied harm, which might be a trigger. All I can say is, Nicole didn't mean to do it. And, she's really, really sorry.

Deciding to play along for now Nicole resubmitted her report to M, removing statements which suggested her boss had direct links to the Widow and therefore a secret organisation. There remained so many unanswered questions, not least what Waverly’s father was doing discussing JOSHUA with another member at his private club. She wished she had asked Waverly which club that might be, although that would draw attention to her being interested in his affairs.

Her afternoon dragged, as did early evening. Seven o’clock came and went with no call or text from Waverly. M had been clear when it came to Waverly’s safety, insisting she was safe, although her gut told her that might have been said merely to keep her on side, keep her doing M’s bidding, keep her from doing something she might regret. By eight she no longer could concentrate, pacing the kitchen, sending a text to Waverly asking if she was coming over. 

By nine she was frantic, calling Waverly, getting only her voicemail. She called the main office number, no one answering, Nicole desperate to know where her fiancé might be. Her last hope was J, he reluctant at first to use MI6’s tracking facility to locate Waverly’s phone, relenting on hearing the desperation in Nicole’s voice. “Just this once, but it’s against the rules. I’ll call you when I have a position.”

She waited ten minutes before calling him again. “Anything?”

“I have her at a house near yours. Draycott Place.”

“Charlotte’s. Thank you. I owe you.”

At nine twenty three Waverly called to say she was on her way over, Nicole pretending to have forgotten what time she said she would call, acting pleased on opening the door. “So sorry,” Waverly said, dumping her overnight bag in the hall. “Meeting overran with the photographer. I still think it would be great having you on the front cover.”

“What did the photographer want?” Nicole asked, pouring two glasses of red.

“Not for me. Early start tomorrow.”

“I thought the front cover looked great.”

“One of the articles.”

Nicole poured Waverly’s drink down the sink. “Tea?”

“Bed,” Waverly replied. “I’m exhausted. I’ll be glad when the magazine launches.”

“Any more thoughts on the engagement party?”

“As a matter of fact yes. It’s a secret, for now.”

Nicole took a mouthful of wine. “Thought it was only me who kept secrets.”

“I can be a sneaky squirrel too. Do you mind if I go up? I’ve brought Marmaduke back. Felt mean taking him.”

“Where’s the ring?”

Waverly stared at her naked finger. “Safe. I’ll be in the shower if you need me. God, I’m so tired.”

Nicole waited for Waverly to leave the room, topping up her glass, wondering what game Waverly was playing. The hours ticked by, her mood no brighter by the time she decided to head to the bedroom, Waverly fast asleep cuddling Marmaduke. Lying awake her mind returned to the moment the Widow was to mark her body, the moment when she so very nearly would have been owned by that bitch. It didn’t matter what the branding mark was, the fact her body would have a permanent reminder of that woman’s work got under her skin more than having a gun pointed at her.

None of her training prepared her for that moment, a moment when her body would have become the possession of another. Closing her eyes trying as best she could to sleep it was hopeless, the Widow wouldn’t let her. She was winning, her little games, her little mind tricks were working and there was nothing she could do about it.

Waverly’s voice was in her ear, calling her name, unsure whether it was a dream, or for real. She could not remember if Waverly was beside her, or if she was still missing, a hand on her shoulder, her training kicking in, a scream, her eyes opening to find Waverly holding her wrist. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she repeated. “You were having a bad dream.”

“You're hurt.”

“You scared me.”

“Is it okay, your wrist?”

Waverly held it close to her, pain etched into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have woken you. You kept saying her name.”

Nicole took Waverly’s wrist. “Waves, I think it’s broken. Oh God, I’m so, so sorry. We need to get it checked out.”

“It’s just a sprain. Some painkillers should do the trick.”

“You need it looked at. I’ll help you dress.”

“Nicole, it’s fine, really. It hardly hurts.”

Nicole pressed lightly on the wrist, the cry Waverly let out telling her she was in more pain than she wanted to admit. Jumping out of bed, pulling on clothes as fast as she could, she ran to help Waverly stand, rummaging through her overnight bag for something she could wear, finding Waverly's notes on an engagement party Charlotte would be hosting. Guilt flooded her, having thought the worst of her fiancé. It was her who needed help.

The Accident and Emergency department at the hospital was busy, even for that time of the morning, the pair sitting for hours waiting to be seen. They sat in silence watching as the walking wounded came and went. Eventually their turn arrived, a hairline fracture, no surgery required, a splint applied and strong painkillers issued. Nicole sat ashen-faced as the doctor asked how it happened, Waverly explaining she slipped coming out of the shower, the doctor agreeing it was easily done and how he once nearly knocked himself out doing something similar.

Nicole waited until they were back in her house before breaking down, unable to forgive herself. “I broke you. I’ve let this get out of hand. She’s won.”

“Who? Not…no, she hasn’t,” Waverly insisted. “Nicole look at me. She hasn’t.”

“You’re going to be exhausted.”

“We get through this. You and me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare put this on you. I know you are going through things. I know you can’t tell me, but I understand.”

“I hurt you. What if it wasn’t just your wrist?”

“It was an accident,” Waverly insisted. “You didn’t do it on purpose.” Waverly went to hug Nicole, her body rigid to the touch. “Look, you can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened.”

“I keep seeing you enter the room. Every single time. Your face. I couldn’t do a thing to save you.”

“Hey, hey. You were there, that’s all that mattered. That bitch convinced me you were dead. I’m just glad we got to be with each other. Plus, you were kind of sexy in that position, with your shirt open and those abs of yours.”

“You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m trying to make myself feel better. We’ve got engagement parties and a wedding to plan. And furniture to buy for Cassillis.”

“I’ll make all the jam you’ll ever need,” Nicole offered.

“And scones. We’ll need scones. Or, whatever they have in Scotland.”

“I draw the line at scones.”

Waverly guided them back upstairs, turning off the alarm on her phone, sending a text to her assistant to reschedule all her meetings. They woke late morning, Nicole still full of remorse, Waverly doing her best to cheer her up, Nicole driving her to the office. As soon as Waverly left the car, Nicole called MI6 demanding she be assessed. 

An hour later, sitting in a room with a psychiatrist, she told her how the mission was affecting her life. The psychiatrist nodded, continuing to take notes, ask questions. “I broke her arm,” Nicole said, her voice shaky, ashamed of her actions. “It was…I didn’t mean to.”

“Whose?”

“My fiancé’s.”

The psychiatrist looked up from her notes. “Explain.”

“I…she woke me and I snapped her wrist.”

“In anger?”

“I thought she was…I thought she was the target.”

“You confused your fiancé with the mission target. Is that what you’re saying?”

“She tried to brand me.”

“Your fiancé?”

“The Widow. She forced me to remove my clothes.”

The psychiatrist put down her pen. “This widow tried to physically assault you. How did that make you feel?”

“Used. Dirty. Like a possession. She’s stalking me.”

“Sorry, for clarity, a woman is stalking you. In what way?”

“Scotland. Envelopes. This.” Nicole pulled down her collar to reveal a fading love bite.

The psychiatrist leaned nearer to see. “This woman did that to you?”

“I hurt the one I love because of this. She wants me. She won’t stop until she has me. I’m terrified she’ll do something to Waverly, or me and I’ll lose her. I nearly strangled her.”

“Sorry, sorry, strangled who?”

“The Widow, and Waverly. She said something and I couldn’t stop myself.”

“You almost strangled your fiancé?”

“I stopped myself. I held the Widow under the water. I should have killed her.”

“Was that your mission?”

Nicole shook her head. “Ingratiate myself. Pretend to be what she wants me to be.”

“What’s that?”

“Her lover.”

“And, you are struggling with reconciling the two?”

“Breaking someone’s wrist isn’t normal.”

“No, but the work you perform carries a high risk of psychological trauma,” the psychiatrist explained. “It takes its toll on the body and the mind. Is your partner, your fiancé receiving counselling?”

“What if I really hurt her?”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know any more. I don’t know.”

“Has your partner threatened to leave?”

Nicole’s eyes scanned the face of the psychiatrist. “It would kill me if she did. She’s all I have.”

“The psychological threat of nearly losing her needs to be explored. I believe you are suffering the aftereffects of the event you described. To see a loved one in a situation where you are unable to help, especially given your training, is causing you to act.”

“My friend saved her. If it wasn’t for him.”

“I’ll recommend you be taken off the mission until you have been assessed thoroughly. I’ll also recommend a course of appointments to talk through what’s happened, to give you a chance to come to terms with events. I can prescribe sleeping tablets if you wish.”

“No, I’m good. This has helped.”

M stood behind the one-way mirror listening to Nicole lay her story before the psychiatrist, thankful her name wasn't mentioned, or conversations about her relationship with the Widow. A knock on the door told her the psychiatrist was outside the room, telling her to enter. “What do you think?” M asked.

“She’s a liability. If she returns to the field you won’t be able to guarantee she’ll carry out your orders. I’m concerned about her inability to control her actions.”

“I agree. She could go rogue. I would like you to add to your report Agent OOH has hinted at the possibility of forming a deep bond with her target, the Black Widow.”

“It would explain her aggression towards her fiancé. Yes, indeed. A desire to have a sexual relationship with one’s tormentor. Textbook Freud.”

“If you could send me your report, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”


	23. Brown

Nicole called Waverly. “About to go into a meeting,” Waverly said. “Can I call you?”

“Sure. I’m…”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Waves…”

“Must go, Alex our editor is waving at me. Honestly, they’re like children.”

Nicole called Xavier. “You free for a drink?”

“I’m in Rome. Unless you’re in Rome.”

“London. Let me know when you’re back.”

“A day or so. You never call for a drink. What’s up?”

“A lot of things. It can wait.”

“I’ve got time. They’re not letting me out to play until this evening.”

Nicole exhaled deeply. “I hurt Waverly.”

“Man, this job can mess things up. Jules and I have had some words. Usually she wins. To be honest, I’m scared of her when she gets mad.”

“Worse.”

“She threw you out?”

“Broke her wrist.” There was a pause. “Thought she was the Widow.”

“Is she okay?”

“Look, I shouldn’t be landing this on you.”

“Land away. Guessing not on purpose, right?”

“Accident. Either way, it happened.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. This job screws with you. Have you spoken with M?”

“Off the mission pending full assessment.”

“Got to me seeing Waverly all beat up on that island. Knew she wasn’t part of our mission but had to do something.”

“I’ve never thanked you.”

“Kept thinking if it had been Jules. That would have finished me.”

“Perhaps we could have dinner at mine. You and Jules. How is she?”

“One month till the baby comes. She’s doing okay. Have plenty of pickles handy, it’s her thing this time. Excellent, my pizza’s arrived, extra anchovies.”

“Thank you.”

“Go hug that gorgeous girlfriend of yours.”

Nicole called Charlotte. “I’m so pleased for you. Always knew you would end up together.”

“Sorry I haven’t been in contact much.”

“Waverly’s beyond excited. She showed me the ring. It’s exquisite, so her. Such a good choice.”

“I was wondering whether you and Miles would like to come to dinner sometime.”

“Miles and I finished ages ago. I’m with Jago now. Love to. Would be good for him to meet you before the party, which I shouldn't have mentioned. Waverly swore me to secrecy.”

“I won’t say anything.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

Nicole called her mother. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?”

“The ring. I imagine it needs altering.”

“Fits perfectly. She loves it.”

“I’m so pleased. It’s such an unusual design. So glad it’s finally being used.”

“Waverly broke her wrist.”

“Oh darling, that’s awful. Is she okay?”

“Hairline fracture.”

“How did she do that?”

Nicole hesitated. “Slipped, in the bathroom. Really should have bought a mat.”

“I did say that floor might be dangerous when wet. How dreadful. She’ll need to rest it.”

“I was thinking of visiting. Waverly wants us to have an engagement party at ours.”

“You’ll have to give me plenty of notice. Don’t want to let the side down. Must look up a recipe for vegan vol au vents.”

“I’ll make sure you’re given time to prepare.”

“How’s the job?”

“Good. Waverly’s keen to live at Cassillis.”

“That’s wonderful. No word from the buyer then?”

Nicole hesitated for a second time. “No. I’ll take it off the market. We’re thinking of opening a café.”

“Rather ambitious. Still, the place needs people. Your father and I could come and help out. Mind you, I really can’t see your father serving behind a counter can you?”

No sooner had she finished the conversation with her mother when Waverly called. “Sorry about that, you okay?”

“I’m being pulled off all missions pending a full assessment.”

“And, that’s definite this time?”

“I’m being referred for counselling.”

“Please don’t feel bad about what happened.”

“You’re the last person I ever want to hurt. Waves, something happened, on a mission.”

“It’s okay.”

“It made me react. That’s no excuse. I should never…”

“How about I leave work early, we go somewhere, just the three of us.”

“Three?”

“You, me and Marmaduke. I’ll cancel my meetings for the next few days.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I’m taking you from your work.”

“We need time together. Could you pick me up from father’s? Most of my clothes are there.”

“What time?”

“Five. No six. Can I leave you to sort out a hotel? Fudge, honestly my editor needs constant hand-holding. He’s waving again. Alex, I’m coming. Got to go. Kisses.”

Her mood lighter, sitting at her computer she found the perfect hotel, one she hoped Waverly would love, reserving a room, booking an evening meal in its restaurant and a selection of treatments in its spa for the following day. About to send Waverly a message, letting her know the arrangements, an email arrived from M, her mouse resting on the icon, wondering whether she could simply ignore it. 

M began by apologising for having put her under the stress which led to Waverly’s injury. She had read the psychiatrist’s report and agreed with the conclusions on removing her from the mission. M recommended she take as much time as needed to deal with whatever she had to, that her door was open if ever she needed to talk privately and wished her well.

Nicole read the email twice, then a third time, not quite believing the words, tears welling as a huge weight lifted. Having wanted to go after the Widow, having wanted revenge for what she had put Waverly through, she had fought to stay on the mission, had fought to stay relevant. She initially cursed M for making her take two weeks’ vacation, only to find herself once more chasing the bad girls when she should have been sorting out her own head.

Car packed, driving to Mayfair, she waited in the Earp’s lounge for Waverly, overhearing the conversation with her father assuring him she would be fine, that Alex was perfectly capable of managing the workload while she took some time off to be with Nicole. She could hear Waverly explaining her wrist wasn’t that painful, that she wouldn’t drink while taking painkillers, or do anything too strenuous, a comment which made Nicole scrunch her face, given their amorous activities sans clothes.

Entering the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, Nicole expected another lecture, or a stern look, surprised when Waverly’s father thanked her for taking his daughter to hospital. “She’s rather afraid of those places, unfortunately. You did the right thing. I’d offer you a whiskey but you’re driving.”

“Waverly suggested an engagement party at Chalfield.”

“More than happy to oblige. You’ll need to speak to mother about catering. I hear you might be moving to Scotland.”

“Jam,” Nicole replied, Waverly’s father staring at her. “In our own café,” she qualified. “Waverly’s set her heart on the castle.”

The father nodded, pride replacing a quizzical look. “That’s my girl. Pretended to run a shop at Chalfield’s. Made her sisters hand over their weekly allowance for sweets. Fine business head.”

“She’s certainly good at organising,” Nicole replied. 

Waverly entered, attempting to carry her case, MacBook and oversized handbag, plus water bottle, wincing as she stood before Nicole and her father. “What did I say about straining that wrist of yours,” he said. 

Nicole rushed to assist, taking everything. “I’ve got it. No more carrying.”

Driving towards the Cotswolds Waverly eventually breaking the silence. “We need this. Just us.”

“Where’s Marmaduke?”

“Oh God, the child, left him behind. In my bag. Again.”

“We may need to invest in a pram if we have children.”

Waverly glanced over, taking a moment to study Nicole’s features. “You’ll have to stop blaming yourself.”

“Your father was in a good mood.”

“MI6 finally sent him a full report on what happened. He’s meeting with them tomorrow for an apology.”

“And, he’s okay with you just having Nigel as protection?”

“Apparently. He never took to that other MI6 guy. Certainly didn’t like him in the house with us.”

“And, you’re okay with not having extra protection.”

“I have you, silly.”

“Not all the time. She’s still out there.”

Waverly glanced over again. “Would it be okay if we didn’t mention her for a few days?”

“No, no, God sorry. Won’t mention her. The hotel looks lovely. Close enough to visit Chalfield if you want.”

“Oh yes, say hi to mother. Oh no…”

“What?”

“Only, I wanted to show her the ring.”

“There’ll be other occasions.”

“I wish I’d thought this through. Although, my finger’s a little swollen.” Nicole went silent. “I’m not in any pain. I mean, my back is a little stiff. My front too. Just here.”

Nicole looked over, grinning. “Oh, I see, just there. Okay, massage front and back, my treat.”

The hotel was everything they needed, a chance to step away from their stressful lives, take time for each other without chasing baddies, or being chased. They could simply be themselves for a few days, enjoy each other’s company and not have to worry about anything. 

Relaxing by the pool the next morning, while Waverly was being pampered in the spa, a member of staff approached with a brown envelope, Nicole’s hand shaking as she accepted it, asking who left it. “It’s a list of films available in our cinema and their times,” the girl replied, smiling.

Nicole lay back on the lounger wanting to laugh and cry. All it took was a brown envelope to trigger her anxiety. A nondescript item of office stationery, one lousy envelope. That was how deep the Widow had burrowed inside her mind. The bitch knew exactly what she was doing, knew how play with a person’s thoughts, turn the screw, build the pressure, with something as simple, as basic, as a brown envelope.

To be expected, considering her training with MI6. Nicole’s eyes widened as it finally dawned on her why, why the Widow used a brown envelope. It was how she had been recruited, how all MI6 officers were recruited. A stranger, a woman approaching her while studying at Oxford asking if she had ever considered working for her country. Naively, Nicole assumed that meant an office job, a monotonous nine to five position in some stuffy, old-fashioned Government building. 

A few weeks later, the same woman handed her a plain brown envelope. Inside were instructions and an address in London where she should go on a particular day, at a particular time, to meet her potential employers. It was mysterious, it was covert, it was thrilling. It was what she wanted to do. 

She kept MI6’s tap on the shoulder quiet from Waverly for months, pretending to be considering a career in the law, eventually revealing her desire to work for the Government. A brown envelope, a nondescript item of office stationery, handed to her by a stranger, was her passport into a new world, an exciting world, full of secrets to be kept and missions to be carried out to protect her country.

The interviews and screening process, the extensive training, the hours of physical and mental tests she underwent to become an intelligence officer were all challenges she relished. They were warned about the dangers of working undercover and the loneliness that comes through not being able to share their exciting lifestyle with those closest to them. They were warned of the strain this puts on relationships, especially on partners. In many ways not having a partner to worry about helped, Xavier and others occasionally letting slip how the pressures of the job affected their home life. She now knew what that meant.


	24. Because

Waverly joined her on the next lounger, the pool area quiet that time of day, the only other people nearby another couple enjoying a romantic break like themselves. “So needed that,” Waverly said, making herself comfortable. “Thank you.”

“We can have lunch here, then head to Chalfields. Unless you’d like to stay another night? Some good movies in their cinema. The latest Bond thriller.”

“Not my thing. Plus, I have the real Bond right here. Could drop by yours,” Waverly suggested. “Would love to say hi to your mother.”

“Settled. We do the grand tour. You’re right, we needed this. I’m-"

“If you apologise one more time-”

“I was going to say, I’m relaxing. Sorry.”

Waverly looked over, pretending to give Nicole a stern look. “You are far too cheeky for your own good Mrs Earp.”

“I’ve been known for my tongue.”

Waverly stifled a laugh. “I missed you. No, that will make your head swell. But seriously, I really did miss you.”

Nicole turned on her side to face Waverly. “I would imagine what it might be like with you in all the hotels I visited.”

“Don’t, you’ll have me crying.”

“The first thing I would do was look out wherever I was and wonder what you were doing.”

Waverly’s eyes began to water. “Stop, I’m too emotional right now.”

Nicole sat up, bringing her legs over the edge of the lounger. “I’d sit on the bed and imagine us there. Kept the cards of every place I wanted to take you.”

Waverly wiped her cheek with her one good hand. “Nicole please, stop.”

“Did you ever think of me?”

“Never. Not once.”

“Oh.”

Waverly huffed. “Of course I did, silly. I still have your rowing hoodie. I’d wear it just to have you close to me.”

“Wondered where that went. I’m marrying a kleptomaniac.”

“You gave it to me. Okay, I may not have returned it.”

“I hated hearing you were with someone else. And yes, I admit I’m not a huge fan of Perry.”

“I never knew if you were with anyone. Assumed it was part of your job.”

“There never was anyone else. How could there be?”

Waverly leapt from the lounger, sprinting towards the exit, Nicole chasing after with their belongings. Following her all the way to their room, Waverly falling on the bed sobbing. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Oh God, your wrist. Do you need more painkillers?”

“I need you. Hold me.”

Nicole dropped everything, scooping Waverly into her arms. “We’re both a mess, but in a good way. I love you. I’ve always loved you, even if you steal my possessions.”

Waverly laughed through her tears, brushing her fingers against Nicole’s cheek. “I stole your heart too.”

It was Nicole’s turn to cry.

Foregoing the pleasures of the cinema, they left Whatley Manor hotel early that afternoon on route to Chalfield, arriving shortly before tea time, Waverly’s mother insisting they stay for dinner and the night. Nicole adored the house, its beautiful gardens and period features, her parent's house not quite on the same grand scale as Waverly’s. 

A long discussion with Waverly’s mother about the engagement party, they retired for the evening, Waverly fast asleep by the time Nicole finished a few chapters of the one book she brought with her. 

The luxury of relaxation, of having time to do what they liked, was balm to Nicole’s soul and her sanity. Contemplating a life beyond MI6 had been pushed to the back of her thoughts while she carried out missions, accepting such a day would come eventually, not relishing the prospect of having to face that day alone. She no longer had to, her life bonded with Waverly’s forever through fate, through a bizarre twist of circumstances which brought them together once more.

In a way, she had the Black Widow to thank for Waverly stepping back into her life, even if it had been at a moment when she could so easily have lost her. From bad grows the seed of good, yin yang, the dance of life between two opposing forces.

Waverly woke in a cold sweat, crying out as the Widow pointed a gun at Nicole, shooting once, twice, large red stains appearing on her ripped shirt, her head hanging to one side, lips parted, life no longer dancing in those beautiful brown eyes. Her frantic flailing, her begging for her lover to be alive sent Nicole scrambling from the bed, afraid she might harm Waverly again. At least she no longer carried a gun, turning it in after her assessment. 

Gripping the side of the bed, calming herself, Waverly moved from the dream to the real world. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, realising it was another nightmare. “God, I fucking hate her.”

Nicole sat on the floor, her heart thumping, her eyes glued to Waverly’s back, too scared to move. “You okay?”

“All those spa treatments to relax me.”

“What?”

“I’m going to bill that bitch for them.”

“Okay.”

Waverly turned to see Nicole cowering by their bags. “What are you doing over there?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh God, it’s okay. I hate this. Look at you. Look what she’s done to you.”

“I just need a moment,” Nicole replied, getting up from the floor, her whole body shaking, pulling on her jogging pants, grabbing her hoodie from a chair, leaving the room. 

She had no idea what she was doing, other than she needed to move, release the pent up energy in her body. She could so easily have reacted to Waverly’s screams, her body still in fight mode, alert to danger, to the threat of danger, ready to respond. Knowing the best escape route would be through the back of the house, she headed to the kitchen, the key still in the door, cursing out loud at such a basic lapse in security. Trainers on, her legs took her along a route she knew well, the five mile run from Waverly’s house to her own in Winsley. It wasn’t that she needed to go home, she simply needed a destination to work off her anxieties, her muscles remembering every twist and turn, every bend and bump without a torch.

Standing outside Winsley Manor at four in the morning, panting after a fast-paced run, she knew her life needed to take one of two directions. Keep letting her demons chase her, or face them. Deciding her mother would not appreciate an unannounced visit that time in the morning, she set off on the return journey to Chalfield, the rising sun allowing her to admire the beauty of the English countryside. The peace and tranquility of the morning renewing her spirits as she made her way back to Waverly. 

As she entered the kitchen Waverly was sitting at the kitchen table hugging a mug of peppermint tea, not looking up. Taking a seat opposite they remained in silence, Nicole sensing Waverly’s emotional pain. “I used to be able to do that run in under forty minutes.”

“Will we ever be free?”

Nicole moved her chair closer, reaching out for Waverly’s hand. “Yes.”

Waverly kept her gaze on the mug. “I want to kill her. I’ve never felt that way about anyone. I feel terrible saying it, but I want her dead.”

“She’s MI6.”

Waverly’s shocked eyes searched Nicole’s face. “She knows how to play this.”

Nicole nodded. “She had a relationship with M, then fell in love with someone else who M killed. She dangled me before the Widow to get her to bite. And, she did.”

Waverly continued staring at Nicole, her mouth open ever so slightly, her mind trying to understand. “You were used to trap her?”

“My mission was to bring her in. We had it covered, but she got away.”

“Because of me?”

“No, no. She had help. Someone didn't want us to have her.”

“The man on the floor.”

“Which man?”

“The one with the blood. His eyes, I could see his eyes.”

“Waves, those guys are scum. They’re mercenaries, doing someone else's dirty work.”

“He had a family.”

Nicole’s body tensed, pulling away her hands. “They're paid to do it. They wouldn’t care about family. They’d kill the family.”

“I…I guess.”

“You’re thinking nice. They’re not nice, trust me.”

“How do you…”

“Kill someone. Is that what you’re asking?”

Waverly’s eyes searched for Nicole's momentarily, returning to her mug. “How many?”

“Waves, it’s not a number.”

“Will you kill her?”

“Tried to. She’s someone else’s problem now. We need to focus on us.”

“What if she…what if…can anyone stop her?”

“Xavier is on it. And others.”

The conversation stalled, Nicole failing to reassure Waverly the Widow posed less of a threat than she imagined, Waverly trying as best she could to make sense of everything. Nicole retrieved a glass from the shelf, filling it from the tap, taking in the cool liquid.

“Why are some people so mean?” Waverly asked, as Nicole placed her half-empty glass on the table.

“Honestly, no idea,” Nicole replied. “I’ve met some really evil people and it still blows my mind.”

“What do they want?”

“World domination, world annihilation, you name it. Take your pick.”

“What does she want?”

“She wants…things went too far. M used me because the Widow wants me.”

“To kill you?”

Nicole’s eyes darted to Waverly’s face, knowing she had to tell her, even if it meant Waverly having to carry the weight of such a revelation from that point forward. “I need you to know. Waverly I need you to understand, but it’s not…this won’t be-”

“You can tell me. It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Nicole exhaled deeply. “Once you know, you can’t unknow.”

“I’ve seen what you do. Please, if it will help.”

Nicole let out another long puff of air. “I met her again in Vienna on my last assignment. She made me do things. Said if I didn’t she would-”

“What things? Nicole, what did she make you do?”

“If I didn’t she would leave her mark on me. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t let her do that because of you.”

“Stop, stop, I don’t understand. What did she make you do?”

“Burn her mark into my back so you would see it, every single day for the rest of your life.”

Waverly retched, rushing to the sink, heaving as the words sank in. Nicole came and stood behind her, rubbing her back. “I’m fine. Nope, going be sick.” The smell of peppermint tea wafted up, Waverly wiping her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine.”

Nicole filled another glass with water, offering it to Waverly, watching her good hand shake as she accepted the liquid. “That’s why we don’t tell anyone about our missions.”

“You had to carry all that by yourself,” Waverly said, composing herself. 

“I’m trained.”

“Trained! Trained! No training could…I’ve a good mind to call your boss. Oh God, my father. M’s probably lied to my father. He could have said something to her.”

“This is between you and me. No one else must know.”

“It’s wrong. This is wrong.”


	25. Brooks's

"It is wrong," Nicole agreed. "But, I signed up for this." She knew the Rubicon had been crossed in revealing what happened between her and the Widow. Under any other circumstances she would have kept the details of the mission to herself, not burden those she loved. This time was different. She needed Waverly to understand there was a reason for her outbursts and irrational behaviour.

“She…” Waverly turned to retch again. “It’s sickening.”

“The longer I kept it from you the more it was eating me inside.”

“God, I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

“It didn’t matter before. Now, with you back in my life-”

“How could she do that to you?”

“Power. Control. Take your pick.”

Waverly straightened her body, still hanging onto the edge of the sink, still in shock. “Does M know what she did to you?”

“Tried to do. I may have fought back.”

“I wish you had killed her. I honestly do.”

“Nearly did.”

Waverly’s body began to shake uncontrollably at the prospect of Nicole killing the one person she hated most in the world. “I think…my head hurts. I need to sit down.”

Nicole watched as the colour drained from Waverly’s face, grabbing her before she hit the flagstone floor. “Waves, Waves,” she repeated, watching as her eyes opened. 

“Make it end,” Waverly whispered. 

“I will, I promise. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Waverly’s mother was in the kitchen when Nicole returned a little after seven. “You girls were up early,” she said, clearing away the glasses and mug. “I found my recipe for mushroom vol au vents if you could give it to your mother. Tell her if she needs help to call me.”

“You’ll have to visit Cassillis when we’re settled.”

“I’ll let you into a secret,” Waverly’s mother said, filling the sink with water. “I may have searched the details online. It’s charming. Don’t let Waverly get ahead of herself. She has so many ideas without always thinking them through. Not like her sister.”

“How is Wynonna? Haven’t seen her in years.”

“Still training to be a surgeon. Not my cup of tea, all that blood.”

“Must catch up with her. It’s been far too long.”

“She’ll be here in a few hours if you wanted to stay for lunch.” Lost in thought momentarily, Waverly’s mother stared into the soapy water. “I’ve never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my Waverly.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

Waverly’s mother turned, attempting to force a smile. “Nigel should have been more careful. There are those who dislike my husband and his politics. We’ve had our fair share of threats. To think they would do this to another of our children.”

“Who?”

“Those who disagree. That dreadful woman.”

“Sorry, who?”

“The Prime Minister. I told him not to get involved, but he’s stubborn like Wynnie.”

“Are you saying the Prime Minister had something to do with Waverly’s kidnapping?”

“Oh no dear. Although, there are those in her circle who can’t be trusted. Why my husband even bothers mixing with them. He should know by now some do not hold this country in as high a regard.”

“Those at his club.”

“His club? You mean his golf club.”

“The one in London.”

“Oh, you mean Brooks’s. He seems to spend more of his time there these days. With Reynolds.”

“Right. I’d better wake Waverly.”

Returning to their bedroom, she found Waverly still asleep, the colour having returned to her cheeks. Borrowing her MacBook she searched up Brooks’s, a name she had come across a few times, not taking much notice. The blurb confirmed what she suspected, no women allowed, one of the oldest and most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the world.

Not surprised in the slightest at Waverly’s father being a member, she wondered who Reynolds could be. Obviously not a woman as she clicked on the club’s Wikipedia entry, not expecting to find anything of interest. Private society, blah, blah, blah, moved premises several times, blah, blah, blah, new clubhouse built of yellow brick, famous for its gambling rooms and the Hellfire Club. 

Her eyes fell on the long list of famous former members: David Garrick, Horace Walpole, George Selwyn, Joshua Reynolds, pausing on the fourth name, the eighteenth century portrait painter. Probably a coincidence, but odd nevertheless, deciding it was worth mentioning to J. “I’m not meant to be speaking with you,” he said. “If you need to find Waverly she’s in the same house as you.”

“She’s next to me,” Nicole whispered, heading to the bathroom. “Can you check something for me?”

“I do have a job to do OOH.”

“Ouch. Brooks’s Club, someone who goes by the name of Reynolds. Could be linked to Joshua.”

“1723 to 1792,” J replied. “The Age of Innocence, supposedly one of his best portraits, although Cupid Unfastening the Girdle of Venus is worth seeing at the Soane if you’re content with a copy.”

Nicole entered the name of the second painting. “Oh, okay. Wow, nothing left to the imagination. I’ll check it out in the flesh, as they say.”

“Why am I being burdened with this errand?” J asked, already searching his data banks.

“Waverly’s father meets with someone who goes by that name at his club.”

“Anything else? Only, I have the nation’s security to worry about without these additional tasks.”

“Brown envelopes.”

“Ah, another attempt at a crossword clue.”

“The Widow uses them to communicate.”

“Still not following.”

“The one handed to me on the station platform.”

“I checked it, thoroughly. Nothing out of the ordinary, or the invitation to the ball.”

“Ultraviolet.”

“I can assure you there are no secret messages.”

“The seal. Did you check under the seal?” J’s hesitation confirmed he hadn’t. “I had another handed to me in a restaurant, with a postcard.”

“I’ll need to look at both,” J offered. “How soon can you get them to me?”

“Tomorrow.”

Waverly was still asleep when she returned to the bedroom, clearing her searches, picking up her book. A knock on the bedroom door a few hours later woke her, the book resting on her lap, her neck aching from the position in which she fell asleep. “Girls, Wynnie is here. I’m about to prepare lunch.”

Nicole entered the kitchen to find Wynonna busy helping her mother sort out what they would eat. “Hello stranger,” she said, placing the knife in her hand on the chopping board, approaching to give her future sister-in-law a hug. “Where’s my baby sister?”

“Upstairs. Good to see you again.”

“I hear you’re going to live in the wilds of Scotland.”

“Cassillis.”

“Bless you.”

Nicole grinned. “Really have missed you. So, they’re letting you loose with a knife.”

“Five more years of training," Wynonna replied, winking. "I’d get less for murder.”

Nicole swallowed a laugh. “I believe it’s life for murder.”

“Not the way I operate.”

“Girls, if you’re not going to help, may I suggest you go for a walk outside?”

“I promise I’ll help,” Wynonna replied, rubbing her mother’s arm. “Haught, follow me.”

Wynonna led the way to her favourite spot by the moat, a few slices of bread in her hand. “We’re not supposed to feed the ducks,” offering a slice of bread to Nicole.

Tearing it into small pieces, they stood doing what they shouldn’t, watching as birds fed on their meagre offering. “Waverly wants to open a café at the castle,” Nicole said, accidentally hitting one bird on the head with a piece of crust.

“Good shot. It’s her way of dealing with things.”

“Catering?”

Wynonna threw the last of her bread into the water. “Playing let’s pretend.”

“Are you’re saying she doesn’t want to live in Scotland?”

“You know her as well as I do. She wants security after what happened. Wish they’d taken me instead.”

“Has she talked to you about it?”

“A little. Mother’s adamant it’s because of father. He’s not in her good books.”

“There were a lot of factors involved, not necessarily any to do with your father.”

Wynonna rubbed her hands together to remove the breadcrumbs, turning to face Nicole. “The main thing is, she’s happier now you’re back in her life. She’s come alive again.”

“Same.”

“Just don’t let her boss you around. Big sister advice.”

Eating lunch with Waverly’s family was like old times, listening to the two sisters chat away, their mother fussing over everyone. After lunch they took a stroll through the gardens, the air scented with flowers, peace and tranquillity abounding. If she had a choice, Nicole thought, this was where she would live, content with her lot in life.

Nicole’s mother was overjoyed to see them, equally fussing over the couple, glad of the company with Nicole’s father away at sea. A lovely meal, a few card games in the lounge, they retired for the night, Nicole not wanting to return to their earlier conversation, worried Waverly might have nightmares because of it. “You okay?” she asked, as Waverly emerged from the bathroom, slipping under the covers.

“Brrrr, need warming up.”

Nicole opened her arms for Waverly to snuggle into her body. “What I said earlier, about the-”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Trusting me.”

“Will you see someone?”

“I’m seeing you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Waverly kissed Nicole on the cheek, wriggling her body to face the other way. “I will.”

“Waves. Will you?”

Waverly sighed. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to force you. It’s just, last night...”

“I will. I’m tired.”

“Okay. Night then,” Nicole replied, reaching over to turn off the bedside light. She could feel Waverly moving, a hand searching for skin, working its way up her thigh. “Oh, hello again.”

Waverly giggled. “Hello again.”

Nicole woke the next morning, happier than she had been in years, Waverly wrapped round her body, long hair hiding her face. She could have stayed like that forever but for her phone buzzing with a message from J asking her to call. “What’s up?” she whispered, so as not to wake Waverly.

“Nothing on Reynolds, presumably a false name to hide their identity. Nothing on the envelope either.”

“Worth a try.”

“However, the card you received at the hotel in Vienna was more informative.”

“Give me a moment,” Nicole replied, wriggling free of Waverly’s arms, earning a groan. Closing the bedroom door as quietly as she could she resumed their conversation. “Okay, fire away.”

“A message hidden in plain sight. A little annoyed I didn’t spot it sooner.”

Nicole visualised the note, the Widow’s scrawly handwriting in black ink all she could remember. “What did it say?”

“Rather clever, but then what do you expect from a former MI6 officer.”

“J, what did it say?”

He cleared his throat. “Not what, where. A site on the dark web.”

“Okay,” wondering how J managed to find a secret website within a handwritten note. “And…”

“The site lists all the attacks claimed to have been carried out in the name of JOSHUA.”

“Holy. Why would she give us that information?”

“Not entirely sure. An olive branch, perhaps. I’m still trying to work through the list to verify. There’s a locked page supposedly detailing future attacks.”

“Which you’ll be able to access. Right?”

“Possibly. Even with MI6 resources, locked pages are notoriously difficult to crack. There’s another locked page.”

“Wish we’d known all this was available without me having to visit her apartment.”

“The list of JOSHUA members.”

“She’s turning on them. This keeps getting better.”

“Not exactly. She’ll only release the access codes to you.”

Nicole’s stomach tightened. “I can’t. I’m off the mission.”

“There’s a number she wants you to call.”


	26. Blacklisted

“Who was that,” Waverly asked, as Nicole slipped back into bed.

“J.”

“And…”

“And, what?”

Waverly brushed the hair away from her face. “And…”

“Needed help with a crossword clue.”

“Don’t tell me then. And, there’s no need to be rude.”

“I wasn’t. There are some things I can’t tell you that’s all.”

Waverly headed to the bathroom, muttering to herself. “I’m not a child,” she announced, as she emerged a few minutes later.

“Waves please.”

Waverly began pulling clothes from her bag. “You think I won’t be able to handle it. Don’t you?”

“It’s not that. It was just some information J had. Nothing important.”

“That’s worse.”

“How?” Nicole's forehead creasing.

“Because if it was just information,” Waverly's fingers air-quoting ‘just,’ "you would have said.”

“It is just information,” Nicole replied, repeating the air quotes, earning a scowl from Waverly. “Waves, if it was important, I’d tell you.”

“So, why can’t you tell me if it’s not that important?”

Nicole grinned. “That’s the trouble with having a super smart partner.”

Waverly’s hands were now on her hips. “I don’t want you keeping things from me. Just because.”

“Just because,” Nicole repeated with air quotes sending Waverly into a rage.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Look, it was just…it was something the Widow sent me. J wanted my thoughts.”

“Recently? Is she still sending you things?”

“Vienna. J’s only got round to looking at it.”

“You’re not back on the case?”

“Definitely not back on the case. How about we take my mother to lunch in Bath. Maybe look at a few rings while we’re there.”

Waverly perched herself on the edge of the bed. “I may have already got you something. It’s a surprise.”

“Has it something to do with you not wearing the ring?”

“No. Okay, a little.”

“Whatever it is I’ll love it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t want you near that bitch. Not after-”

“Which one?”

“That one. Promise me you won’t. Even if M orders you.”

Nicole shuffled down the bed to sit beside Waverly. “Promise.”

Their trip to Bath was a success, their lunch in Rosario’s a chance to relax further, unwind and take life at their own pace. Nicole’s mother was in fine form, enjoying the company of the couple, glad to have a chance to catch up with her daughter. She too could see how happy Nicole was now Waverly would finally be in her life forever. 

A visit to the Roman Baths, ice creams purchased from a street seller, they made their way back to the car park, Nicole slowing down to look in a shop window. “I only have ten more minutes on the ticket,” her mother advised. “I don’t want to get a fine.”

“You go on,” she suggested, Waverly holding back.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re being followed. Don’t look. Pretend we’ve seen something of interest.”

“Are you sure?” Waverly said, desperate to look. “How do you know?”

“Woman, green jacket, short black hair. Outlier.”

“A what?”

“Someone who doesn’t fit in.”

“I can’t see anyone,” Waverly replied, unable to stop herself looking.

“You’re not meant to.”

“Someone who doesn’t fit in who I’m not meant to see.”

“Pretty much. She’s by the entrance to the theatre. Stay here.”

“What? Don’t leave me. Nicole, what do I do?”

“Go inside the shop. Don’t leave. Buy something if you have to. Not tea cloths, we have enough.”

“But-”

“It’s okay. Trust me. Go.”

Nicole waited for Waverly to enter the shop before turning, crossing the street, approaching the woman who had been following them. The woman handed Nicole a brown envelope, about to scurry off, Nicole too fast, grabbing her arm. “Give the Widow a message, I’m off the mission.”

The woman looked confused. “Someone asked me to hand this to you.”

“Yeah. Who?”

“A man. Gave me money.”

Nicole pushed the woman up the steps of the theatre, pressing her against the door, twisting her wrist, waiting for the pain to register on the stranger’s face. “Don’t buy it. Talk, or I break your wrist.”

“Please. You’re hurting me.”

She should have carried on, should have applied more pressure, Waverly’s injury stopping her from going further. Releasing the woman, knowing she couldn’t do what she threatened, she watched as the woman sauntered off, giving her a one finger salute, Nicole realising she had been played. 

Waverly was still in the shop when she returned, now holding two full bags containing items purchased, Nicole staring at them. “I was gone no more than a minute. How?”

“Stress. What did she want?”

Nicole felt for the brown envelope in her pocket, hesitant to open it. “It can wait.”

“Was she a spy?”

Nicole’s eyes darted around the shop, no one taking any notice of Waverly’s comment. “No. We need to get going.”

“Nicole, who was she?”

“Someone. Not here.”

Nicole’s mother was waiting for them in the car. “Two minutes left on my ticket. I was getting worried.”

“Sorry,” Waverly replied. “Last minute purchases. My fault.”

“Will you be staying for tea?”

“Need to get back,” Nicole said. “Waverly’s magazine goes live in a month.”

Nicole’s hand remained on the envelope hidden in her pocket as they drove to Winsley, excusing herself as they entered the house, locking the bathroom door. Prizing open the envelope, annoyed at herself for letting the woman go, she extracted another postcard, this time of the London Eye, a tourist attraction on the south bank of the River Thames, not far from the MI6 building. Turning it over, there were but two words: 

Tick Tock.

Arriving back in London early evening Nicole dropped Waverly at her father’s, heading straight to the MI6 building. The duty officer swiped her pass. “Not cleared.”

“I have to speak to the Quartermaster. It’s urgent.”

“Note says not to let you into the building. Guards.”

Two guards with machine guns approached. “This is a matter of life and death.”

“Escort her from the building.”

“Well fuck you,” Nicole replied, grabbing one of the guards, relieving him of his weapon, pointing it at the other guards who were now aiming their guns at her. “Go on, shoot. Dare you.”

The sound of the siren was deafening, the duty officer having pressed the alarm on his desk as he watched Nicole in action, impressed at her skill in disarming a trained soldier. Her back pinned against the wall, a machine gun pointing at seven equally well-armed guards, Nicole knew this wasn’t the way to enter MI6. A simple phone call to J might have sufficed, except she needed to be back working with those who could help her untangle herself from the Widow.

M’s appearance was the last thing she expected, lowering her gun, four guards pouncing on her, forcing her to the ground, handcuffing her. “Could you have made less of a scene OOH? Bring her to my office.”

Seated once more in the chair opposite M’s desk she waited for M to assure the guards she was perfectly safe. Closing the door, pouring them both a large whiskey she handed one to Nicole. “My door was open if you had chosen to speak to me.”

“The London Eye.”

M held the glass to her nose taking in the aroma. “What about the London Eye?”

“It’s her next target.”

“And, you know that because.”

“Stop playing fucking games,” Nicole said, taking a gulp of her whiskey. “I’m telling you because if I don’t people will die.”

“You’re off the mission pending a full psychological assessment. She’s not your problem anymore OOH.”

“Except, I know where she’s going to strike next.”

“If you’ve withheld information from your meeting in Vienna.”

“Do you think I’m that stupid? She sent me a warning. If you can’t see that.”

“What sort of warning?”

Nicole slammed the postcard on M’s desk. “Good enough for you. I was in Bath and they followed me. Tick tock.”

M picked up the postcard, studying the photo on the front, turning it over to read the two words on the back. “I see. I’ll deal with this.”

“Is that it?”

“You’re off the mission.”

“I’m the link.”

M lifted her glass, taking a sip, returning it to the desk. “Let us handle this. How is Waverly?”

“Okay.”

“Her wrist?”

“Don’t shut me out.”

“OOH, you are under medical referral. I appreciate you trying to help, but you need to step back.”

“And have people following me, giving me postcards.”

“You did the right thing bringing this to our attention, albeit in a way which makes me even more convinced you are not fit to return to active duty.”

“M, please.”

“I’ve decided to accept your resignation. Effective immediately. I’m sorry, but you’ve forced my hand.”

“Fucking coward,” Nicole hissed, looking at the glass in her hand, slamming it on the desk. “If people die because of you.”

Escorted out of the building, stripped of her MI6 pass, she was on her own, driving back to her house, collecting up the post from the mat, standing in her hall beaten. She knew better than to mention her conversation with J, realising if M knew she would have mentioned it during their conversation. That was her only consolation, knowing J had withheld information on JOSHUA from M, at least for now. The only question remaining was, should she make that call to the Widow?

Nicole couldn’t sleep, not without Waverly by her side, along with the thought of MI6 not taking seriously the Widow’s threat. She almost wanted to see it happen, see the London Eye attacked, simply to be vindicated. Almost. Her heart still beat for the good she could do, saving innocent lives not taking them. The future of her career, her life even, worth less than the lives of all those who might be caught up in whatever sick game the Widow, or JOSHUA, or M chose to play. 

Her early morning run took her to the river, passing the building in which she no longer was welcome on to Lambeth Bridge where she crossed, her legs carrying her to the iconic landmark on the Thames. Purchasing a coffee, she sat gazing up at the London Eye, wondering what lay ahead for her life, wondering if Waverly had been right all this time.

A café selling jam was growing on her, a life without having to second guess anyone apart from Waverly. But then, that was the delight of the one she loved, never having to, Waverly too honest for her own good, not even able to keep her own secrets.

“Is this bench taken?” J said, sitting beside her. 

“Which side are you on?”

“Yours. Ours. I recommend the almond pastry.”

“Give me the number.”

“I can’t. It could be a trap.”

“Why didn’t you tell M?”

J took a sip of his coffee. “I would however recommend not purchasing a coffee from the vendor behind us.”

Nicole retrieved the Maybole postcard from her hoodie. “Let me call her. I can handle this.”

“I only agreed to meet you so you could give me this card. Let us do our job.”

“I was part of this once.”

“Whatever happens from this point onward is not your concern.”

“J, please. A list of future attacks, the members of JOSHUA, I can get them for you. You know it makes sense.”

“We do not operate independently,” J replied, standing, looking around for a bin in which to discard his coffee.


	27. Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mention COBRA again in this chapter. It's an acronym for Cabinet Office Briefing Rooms, where British government ministers meet to handle national emergencies. Like The White House Situation Room.
> 
> .

Cleo retrieved the silk robe from the floor, pulling the sash round her waist, tying a neat bow. “It’s all in hand. She’ll call, give it time.”

“The Widow took in Cleo’s curvaceous form from the bed. “I detest waiting.”

“My darling, this can’t be rushed. Trust me, she’ll be begging you soon enough.”

The Widow placed a hand behind her head. “Don’t be too long. I need you to distract me while I wait for my little, red-feathered bird to sing.”

Cleo made her way round the bed, kissing the Widow on the cheek. “Be patient. Now, let me go make my calls.”

The Widow waited until Cleo left the bedroom, grabbing her phone, flicking through the messages. Her contact confirmed the envelope had been handed to Nicole in Bath, the Widow enjoying her silly little game, keeping the pressure on, making Nicole sweat. Her finger scrolled through her list of recent calls resting on the one she needed. “Well?”

“We have a technical hitch.”

“What do you mean, technical hitch?”

“She’s no longer working for MI6.”

“What? I can’t believe you fucked up. One simple task, one simple fucking task.”

“Out of my hands unfortunately.”

The Widow remained silent, collecting her thoughts. “Okay, okay, this could still work.”

Cleo returned to the room, dropping the robe. “Mother sends her regards. Everything is in place for London.”

The Widow hung up, smiling as her lover climbed back into bed. “Good, good. A few fireworks to get the party started.”

Nicole sat in her kitchen eating from a tub of ice cream. The entire contents consumed, she unpacked her case, put on a wash, cleaned all the kitchen work surfaces, twice. Utterly bored by eleven thirty she wondered whether she should join a gym, or go for another run. Not wanting to disturb Waverly, she decided she would bake a cake in preparation for running their café, only to find she had none of the ingredients, heading to the stores, returning with two full bags. 

As she approached her house M was on the doorstep, their eyes meeting. “You fired me.”

“You resigned. Can we go inside?”

“I’m busy. Baking a cake.”

“I see you are not letting your skills go to waste. I haven’t got long.”

Nicole let them in, leading the way to her clean kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Something a little stronger. Meeting the Prime Minister.”

“A little early.”

“Not with the week I’m having.”

Nicole returned with a decent whiskey, watching M's hand shake as she accepted the drink. “Guessing this isn’t a social call.”

“I’m here to explain.”

“A little late.”

“I had no choice but to accept your resignation after what you did.”

“What will you do about the Widow?”

“The threat is credible. Targeting London has been on her agenda for some time. Although, bombs are not her style.”

“Killing is.”

M gulped her whiskey. “True. Whatever you think of me, I’m on your side. And Waverly’s.”

“Somewhat academic seeing I no longer work for you.”

“That’s the other reason I’m here. I want you to do something for me. Privately.”

Nicole snorted. “That’s a no.”

“There are reasons I cannot go into, but it has to be you.”

“With no back up, no gun and no boss. I don’t think so.”

“I need you on the outside. That’s all I can tell you.”

Nicole shook her head. “I broke Waverly’s wrist. That’s enough.”

“I would not ask if it wasn’t vitally important. At least consider it.”

“I can’t. My life’s with her now.”

M finished her whiskey, retrieving a slip of paper from her pocket. “If you change your mind ring me on this number. Can I ask you not mention this to anyone?”

Closing the front door Nicole rested her head against the wood, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Even now, with everything that had happened between her and the Widow, M was prepared to use her as a pawn. The sense of betrayal cut deep, knowing how much she had given to MI6, only to have it thrown back in her face by a boss she no longer could trust.

The rest of the day was spent in front of her computer, trying to take her mind off M’s offer. She was still there when Waverly arrived.

“Hello, anyone home?” Waverly called from the hall.

“In here.”

“What a day. Leave others in charge and chaos ensues. What’s that?”

“I’ll be up in a moment.”

“Looks interesting.”

“How was your day?”

“Burnt down the office.”

“That’s good.”

“Then ran naked through the streets.”

“I think there’s something in the fridge for supper.”

Waverly slid her hand inside the neck of Nicole’s shirt, finally getting her attention. “What if we shower first?”

Nicole turned to face her. “M came over.”

“Tell me she’s not changed her mind again.”

“Accepted my resignation after a little persuasion. Wants me to work for her privately.”

“Are you serious? No, definitely not. Tell me you’re not going to.”

“She’s the last person. How’s your wrist?”

“But.”

“No coconuts.”

“The whole truth.”

Nicole sighed. “There’s a list, actually two lists I need to get my hands on.”

“And.”

“If I call a number I’ll get them.”

“I have a bad feeling about this. Which number?”

“You’re not going to like this.”

“No, no, no. I forbid you.”

“J wouldn’t give it to me anyway.”

“Let them sort this out. You’re no longer part of MI6. We have our whole lives ahead of us.”

“I forgot the cake.”

“You’ve got to let this go. What if you come help me tomorrow.”

“In your office.”

“In my office.”

“In the bathroom.”

“On the table, against the door.”

Shower taken, cake baked, meal eaten, they snuggled up on the couch to watch Netflix, Waverly asleep within minutes. Extracting herself, Nicole returned to her computer, about to close it down when she spotted a new email from the estate agents for the castle. Deciding it could wait, she made a mental note to call the next morning.

Waverly was still fast asleep on the couch, the splint on her wrist a reminder to Nicole she needed to remember her priorities. Scooping Waverly up in her arms, she carried her to the bedroom, tucking her in, unable to switch off her mind. Returning to the lounge she sat in darkness watching a talk show without much interest, a second slice of cake waiting to be eaten on the coffee table. 

“We bring you breaking news,” an announcer said, interrupting the programme. “Reports of explosions in London.”

Nicole’s heart began to race, pulling out her phone, calling J. It went to voicemail. Then Xavier, the same. Searching the channels she found BBC news, waiting for an update. The news continued with a piece on community gardens, Nicole bolt upright waiting for more information. 

As the piece ended, another BBC announcer appeared. “We have reports of incidents at four underground stations in London. Police and fire services are at the scene. We’re going live to Bank Station now.”

A stressed-looking reporter stood outside the station, a microphone in her hand, trying to explain, as best she could, the unfolding story. “The explosions were heard shortly before ten thirty this evening as commuters made their way home. Firefighters are attempting to access the stations as I speak, although fire and the threat of more devices are slowing progress.”

Rushing to the kitchen, retrieving M’s number from the bin, she called. “Not now.”

“The list. Was it on the list?”

“I’m dealing with a major incident. I’ll call you.”

The rest of the night was spent in front of her computer, reading updates, the death toll rising as each hour passed. By six the next morning the figures were horrendous. More than thirty dead, hundreds injured, as many unaccounted for, the whole of London’s underground system brought to a halt. This was not some petty little crime spree by a few amateur criminals. This was a coordinated attack on a major Capital, deliberately carried out to send one big message. 

She was still at her computer when Waverly entered. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Waves. This is big.”

“Have you been up all night?”

“I’m such a fool.”

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t think you’ll be going into work today.”

“Nicole, can you please tell me what’s going on.”

“London is under attack.”

“What?”

“Four bombs so far.”

The colour drained from Waverly’s face. “Where? Oh my God. Was anyone hurt?”

“Underground stations. Hundreds.”

“Oh no. Wyn. I need to call her.”

“I thought it was the London Eye.”

“What?”

“The card in Bath. I thought-“

Waverly had already left the room, rushing to call her sister, her phone going to voicemail. She called her father. “Waverly, calm down. She’s alive. It’s a complete mess.”

“Where is she?”

“At the hospital, with John, treating the wounded. The Prime Minister will have to resign over this.”

“If you speak to Wyn, tell her I love her. And John. Love you too.”

“Yes, yes. We’ll get through this. I suggest you stay where you are.”

Nicole was still at her computer searching for information when Waverly returned, shaking her head as each live update appeared on the BBC News website. The tally of dead and wounded kept rising, the burden of those numbers weighing on her soul. One number, one lousy telephone number could well have prevented all this, the only thought looping in her head. 

Had she had the list the Widow offered it might have told her the real target was the transport network, not a tourist attraction, deflection being the game of the master criminal. Yet again, she had been played, getting those in charge of security to focus elsewhere. Distract them, make them think an attack might happen in one location, get resources directed there, and boom, attack somewhere not expected. Except, they might have known had she had the list. 

“Wyn’s alive.”

“Waves, I’ve got to do something. I can’t sit idle while London is being attacked.”

“It might not be her.”

“It’s her. With the help of her sick friends.”

“You’re just one person.”

“She offered me a list of future attacks. What if this was on it?”

“You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could. If M hadn’t let me go I would have that list.”

“You resigned.”

“I’ve got to get that list. Don’t you see? And, whoever is working with her.”

“Nicole, this isn’t your fight any more.”

Nicole’s bloodshot eyes told another story. She knew she was not responsible for the explosions, but her heart went out to all those who might have been saved had she just had that list. Grabbing her coat from the hall, she knew where she needed to be, leaving her car, running as fast as she could. The sound of police sirens and ambulances filled the streets, ferrying the wounded to hospital, the roads deserted of cars and pedestrians as her legs carried her towards the MI6 building.

“Please, I have to speak with the Quartermaster.”

“Name,” the duty officer demanded, staring at her.

“OOH.”

“Not cleared.”

“Please. He’s not answering his phone. I have information. On the bombings.”

“Not cleared. You need to leave.”

“One call.”

“Guards.”

Nicole found herself out on the street once more, right in the middle of a scene of chaos and confusion. All she could do was watch as the emergency services raced across Vauxhall Bridge, her ability to help muted by all the decisions she had made up to that point. Waverly was right, she was simply one person, no more able to control the evil deeds of those who chose to attack London as King Canute was in stopping the incoming tide.

The walk back to her house took forever, giving her time to let it sink in she was no longer part of that life. Entering the house, only then did she realise she had left Waverly alone, finding her in the kitchen, trying to co-ordinate her own team as best she could, everyone accounted for. Hugging each other, Waverly’s words washed over her, all Nicole could think of was that list. 

She awoke on the couch, the smell of freshly brewed coffee bringing her to her senses. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

Nicole pulled herself up to a sitting position, her body aching. “Any news?”

“It’s bad.”

“I need to do something.”

“What? Seriously, what can you do?”

“Anything. Help. I’ve got to.”

Waverly knelt before her, taking her hands. “This is bigger than us. I know you feel responsible, but this fight is beyond what we can cope with.”

“Waves, this is what I’m trained for.”

“No it’s not. You take on the world thinking only you can save it.”

“I can.”

“You can’t. Don’t you see? There will always be the next criminal intent on causing harm, the next evil-minded person out there ready to hurt people. You stop this one, and the next appears, and the next.”

“Starfish.”

“Don’t. I love you because you have a big heart. And yes, I can see you rescuing every starfish on every beach. I will be there right beside you, every single starfish along the way. But, starfish don’t have bombs. I’ve lost where I’m going with this.”

Nicole laughed. “Mini grenades. Flame throwers. Starfish with flame throwers. Spoons. I’m going with spoons.”

They were interrupted by Nicole’s phone buzzing, M’s private number, the stress in her voice evident. “I need you back here immediately.”

“On my way.”

Without stopping to think, Nicole rushed to get ready, ignoring Waverly’s pleas, leaving the house minutes later. Her car swept into the MI6 building, standing before the duty officer once more, this time cleared for entry. Arriving outside M’s office she waited to be invited in, assistants rushing back and forth, a frenzy of activity she had not seen before. 

An hour later she was still waiting outside, no idea when she would be called. About to go check on J, M’s door opened, a group of solemn-face bureaucrats filing out, no one talking. M emerged from her office, her face haggard through lack of sleep, looking for her assistant. “What are you doing here?” she said, spotting Nicole.

“You sent for me.”

“Yes, yes. Sorry, come in. Where’s that assistant of mine?” Closing the door behind them, M was about ready to drop. “The Prime Minister has convened COBRA as a national emergency.”

“Can J get me the number?”

“Number. Number. The Quartermaster is missing. Last seen entering one of the stations targeted seven minutes before the explosion.”

Every muscle in Nicole’s body tightened. “No contact.”

“Nothing. Emergency services are trying to get to the platform. Whoever was down there when the device was detonated…”

“Has anyone come forward claiming the attack?”

“No one. Whatever motivation drove this, they’re keeping quiet for now. Not even demands, or threats. Almost as if it was done for the pure enjoyment of seeing London go up in smoke.”

“There’s a list. I can get it.”

M rubbed her eyes. “Sorry what? What are you talking about?”

“A website. The one J found in the Widow’s note. Supposedly a list of attacks that will take place and the members of JOSHUA.”

M’s expression morphed from exhaustion to confusion. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“I need to call her. It’s the only way. She left a number for me to call.”

M was already up from her desk, marching towards the door. “Follow me.”

Reaching J’s department, M scanned the banks of desks for his second in command, eventually spotting her. Nicole explained what they were looking for. “I can check his computer, but it’s not a project I was working on.”

“This is a priority,” M ordered. “Drop everything else.”

They watched as the woman attempted to access J’s files, shaking her head. “I can’t get in. I can call him if you like.”

Nicole looked at M. “There’s one other person. Cleo Clanton.”

“Okay. Do what you have to. I’m reinstating you, temporarily. Take whoever you need.”

Nicole made the call to Cleo’s office in Frankfurt, leaving a message to say she needed to talk, giving her M’s number. When Cleo received the message from her assistant she was still with the Widow. “Well, well, well. Looks like our little bird is ready to chirp.”

The Widow picked at her smoked salmon. “I speak with her.”

“You’re not going to keep her all to yourself, are you?”

“In private.”

Cleo pouted, leaving the room, the Widow making the call. “How delicious to hear your voice again. How’s London?”

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“Give me the access codes, then you can have me.”

“Oh my sweet thing, not so fast. I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Take care of a little unfinished business.”

“So, getting me is not enough. Thanks. How to make a girl feel wanted.”

“Oh, you are more than enough. But, I know where your loyalty lies.”

“I’m willing to go with you, let you do whatever you want with me. Isn’t that enough?”

“All in good time. No, this is a little test that’s all.”

“Name it.”

“You will love this. It’s so you. I want you to kill someone for me. Will you do that honey?”

“Who?”


	28. Barry

“She works for me,” M interrupted, having heard the Widow’s demand.

An icy silence filled the room, Nicole looking at M wondering who should speak next. She had to say something, otherwise it might be assumed she would kill on the Widow’s command simply to get her hands on those lists. “Any thug can kill," she said, eventually. "Why not get one of your friends to do it?”

“Oh honey, how naïve of you. I could do it myself but for one teensy little thing. I want to see you struggle with the decision. Moral dilemma, how delicious. Will she, won’t she, will she, won’t she.”

Nicole wanted to put her hands round the throat of the Widow, squeeze until her tongue no longer had the power to torment, as she had tried to in the pool. Having never killed anyone with her bare hands, she was prepared to make an exception for the Widow, again, just to stop her from screwing with her life. 

M placed a finger to her own lips, her eyes on Nicole. “You underestimate my operative. Do your worst.”

“Oh, I will. I most certainly will.”

M ended the call, shaking her head. “I knew she was fragile, but fuck me. Apologies, long day. Whiskey?”

Nicole nodded, amused at having heard her boss drop the F bomb. Then again, she too could so easily swear after that conversation. “We still don’t have the lists,” she said, accepting a large glass of amber liquid. 

“I have my doubts about the value of those,” M replied, staring into her own drink. “To think we loved each other once. She’s no longer the same person.”

Nicole allowed the alcohol to warm the back on her throat. “What now?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know. The Prime Minister wants answers. She’s calling a press conference in two hours to tell the nation we have this under control.”

“Do we?”

M looked up from her glass. “You know, it’s like sitting in front of a mirror with you.”

Nicole raised her glass. “I’m not one for sugar-coating life.”

“I know, I hired you,” M replied, raising her own glass.

“What if I make the kill?”

M rolled her eyes. “I know you hate me, but let’s put things into perspective here.”

“She can’t mean you?”

M took another slug of whiskey. “You are not the first she’s tried to recruit for her sick little game of retribution.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for the sympathy vote. Back to business. We find a way to get those lists.”

“With J gone we’re clutching at straws.”

“Maybe,” M replied, placing her glass on the desk, turning towards her computer screen. “I know someone who might be able to help us.” Nicole watched as M typed away. “One of the best. Tried recruiting him. I’ve sent a message to contact you.” 

Nicole’s phone rang. “Do you have almond milk?” Waverly said. “I can’t find any.”

“There should be some in the fridge. No wait, cupboard in the hall. You okay?”

“Lonely. When are you coming home?”

“Soon. I’ll get some on my way.”

Only then did it dawn on Nicole she left Waverly alone in the house, looking at M to be excused as a child would desperate to pee, eyes begging a teacher unsure whether they would be allowed to leave.

The journey home took less than ten minutes, stopping to grab a few items from the store, placing her key in the door while balancing the carrier bag on her knee. The silence hit her, calling out, wondering whether Waverly might be taking a bath and couldn’t hear her, or had her earphones in. 

A sense of dread filled her entire body, dropping the bag in the hall, calling out again, the lack of response sending her into another spiral of panic. Her legs took her to every part of the house, Waverly nowhere, not even a handwritten note on the breakfast island this time. Yet again she believed the worst, yet again letting the Widow’s mind games have their effect, believing someone had taken her, believing someone must have called at the house, Waverly opening the door coming face to face with someone sent to do her harm.

Her voice echoed off walls unable to respond, unable to tell her where the love of her life was. “Come on, come on,” she muttered, as Waverly’s phone went to voicemail. Hi, it’s me, I’m home. Where are you?”

Her heart beating through her chest, she made another tour of the house. The television muted in the lounge, a bowl of cereal uneaten on the breakfast island, Waverly’s notepad open beside it. She called again. “Waves, please, where are you?”

The sound of the front door opening sent her racing to the hall, Waverly entering with a carrier bag. “It’s really quiet out.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Nicole replied, pulling Waverly towards her, pinning her arms to her side.

“I didn’t know how long you’d be. Got bread too, yours is out of date.”

“You don’t leave the house, you hear.”

Waverly wriggled to free herself. “I needed milk.”

“I was getting it. I told you.”

“I was hungry.”

“I don’t care. If I say stay inside you stay inside.”

“You never said that. And, stop being so bossy.”

“I did, and I’m not.”

“Nicole Haught, you are incredibly bossy. And, you didn’t tell me to stay here.”

“When something happens don’t come running to me.”

“I win,” Waverly replied, grinning, then breaking into laughter.

Nicole huffed. “And, ignore all the messages on your phone.”

Waverly placed her bag on the floor, pulling her pouting partner nearer. “I know you too well.”

“M’s offered for us to stay at hers.”

“Whoa, back up there cowboy. What?”

“She has full security. It’s safer than here.”

“You don’t trust her. What about her and the Widow?”

“She’s on our side.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Nope, but I have to go do my job and I need to know you’re safe.”

“You’re not going near that bitch, are you?”

Nicole shook her head. “We’re due at M’s in an hour. I’ll help you pack.”

She still had her reservations about M, but their conversation with the Widow revealed a different side, one she was prepared to take a chance on with the one person she needed to keep safe.

Waverly placed her bags on the floor of M’s guest room, bouncing on the edge of the bed to test its comfort. “Not as good as yours.”

“It’s only for tonight, while they sort out a safe house.”

“Not sure I can do anything knowing your boss will be listening.”

“She’s still at MI6. Why don’t we see how uncomfortable this bed is?”

“Do you think the room’s bugged?”

“Hope so. Let them know how fantastic you are.”

“Nicole! So not comfortable with this.”

“Let me help you relax.”

They were still in bed when M returned home, switching on the television to hear the Prime Minister’s announcement. She sat alone listening to the lies and reassurances, knowing the situation was far from under control, that no one had owned up and that her department was being held responsible on the assumption the bombings must have been carried out by foreign terrorists. 

Making her way upstairs she could hear Nicole in the guest room, Waverly laughing at the song being sung. Knocking, waiting, the singing stopped, Nicole emerging a few moments later, her tee shirt on back to front, the corners of M’s mouth lifting. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

Nicole’s cheeks reddened. “Any news?”

“The PM’s looking for a scapegoat. Right now it’s us. Or rather me.”

“What was that private job you wanted me to do?”

“It can wait,” M replied, her eyes glancing at her wedding ring momentarily. “I have dinner arriving in half an hour.”

The conversation around the dining table was light, even with everything going on in the world outside M’s front door. There had been no word on J, the fire service still picking their way through the carnage left by the bomb at Charing Cross station. Seven bodies recovered, four men, three women, fifty three casualties, seventeen serious, two critical, nineteen persons unaccounted for of which J was one. His phone showed a last location at the station, no other location recorded after the bomb detonated. 

It was gone midnight when Nicole received a message from M’s contact telling her to meet him at an address in Catford, south London, making her way there by car, the roads quieter than usual. Pulling up outside what appeared to be a squatter’s house, she pushed open the front door, her hand ready to extract her gun should the need arise. “Hello, anyone home?”

“Down here. Watch your step.”

Her phone out, navigating a path with its light down a flight of steps to a basement, careful not to trip on the beer cans littering the floor, she came before M’s master hacker, an overweight guy in his mid-forties, unshaven, unwashed from the sweaty odour filling the room, dirty plates and mugs piled up on his desk, his back to her as he scanned a multitude of screens. Without turning he continued to type. 

“What can I do you for?”

“I need a website on the dark web.”

He turned his head, his eyes lingering a little too long. “A website. Which one?”

Nicole shrugged. “International terrorist goes by the name of the Black Widow.”

The guy snorted. “Oh right. J’s friend.”

Nicole’s stomach lurched. “Friend.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Whatever M’s offered you.”

“Double.”

“Double what? I’m just the messenger.”

“Ain’t doing nuffink till I gets me wonga.”

“You’ll have to take that up with M.”

The guy pulled out his phone, demanding double, nodding, handing his grubby phone to Nicole, much to her disgust. “She wants to speak to you.”

“I’ve settled his demand. Tell him the five hundred pounds will be sent via paypal.”

Nicole stifled a laugh, handing the phone back, not wanting to know what the greasy film was over its surface. “Money’s on its way. Can you find it?”

“Sure. Give us a moment. Ain’t seen you before. You new?”

“Admin.”

“Nah, you’re one of M’s, I can tell. You killed anyone?”

You, if you don’t get a move on, Nicole thought. “I push papers, not much killing involved in that.”

“Couldn’t do that. Told M I’m a love machine not a killing machine.”

“Right. Good to know. How long will this take?”

“All night,” the guy replied, winking. “All night, baby.”

At this point in the conversation, Nicole wished she could scream at the guy she was one hundred percent gay, that someone like him would never be on her radar, even if he was the last person on earth. She merely smiled a half-interested smile hoping it would suffice. 

Returning to his screens she watched as he typed away, different pages appearing then disappearing, the guy humming to himself a Rolling Stone’s tune, Nicole confident this guy rarely got any satisfaction when it came to the bedroom, unless going solo was included. The sound of footsteps upstairs made Nicole’s hand return to her gun, hearing someone call out. “Barry, your order. Shall I leave it up here?”

The guy hauled himself off the chair, returning a few minutes later with a huge bucket of fried chicken and a two litre bottle of diet Coke. “You want some?” he said, shoving the container towards Nicole, she now understanding why his phone felt the way it did.

“No thanks. How much longer?”

“Who knows? Sent out a few fishes, waiting for a bite.”

Nicole had to content herself with watching Barry demolish an entire bucket of food along with an entire bottle of drink, belching loudly every once in a while, the stench of consumed chicken wafting over to the stained couch where she waited, cursing M once more.


	29. Boobies

Nicole checked her phone. 4.05am. “How much longer?”

Barry let out another belch. “Got it. Come closer darling.”

She didn’t particularly want to, but if it meant getting out of that stinking pit she would do what needed to be done. Standing beside him, he called up a screen she recognised from when she first entered. “You had this all the time.”

Barry belched again, Nicole turning away just in time. “Yep, so what’s your game pretty lady?”

Nicole had had enough, pulling out her gun, resting it against Barry’s head. “You get me into those locked pages, or I make a window in your head.”

“Feisty. Me likes. Do you do bondage?”

“I do holes. Get me in.”

Barry’s greasy left hand went to the front of his jogging pants, continuing to type with his right, Nicole desperately hoping he would get her into the pages before he got himself off. “Et voila. For you anything.”

Nicole stared at the screen directly in front of Barry, a list of targets on full display, the first on the list not London, nor the second, or the third. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“If you’re asking.”

“Where’s London?”

“Here.”

“It’s got to be there. Are you sure this is the right list?”

“It’s a list. You want the other one?”

Nicole nodded, Barry thankfully using both hands this time to retrieve the locked second page, Nicole scanning the names as they appeared, her eyes picking out Waverly’s father, the Austrian Ambassador who hosted the ball in Vienna and the British Prime Minister. With the list of future attacks excluding the London bombings, she assumed the JOSHUA list was but a nice try by the Widow to incriminate whoever was her enemy, wondering why M’s name wasn’t on there, or hers. 

“Ah, so that’s annoying,” Barry said, interrupting her train of thought. “Should have guessed. Oops.”

“What? Guessed what?”

“Trip wire. I think I can stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Accessing the pages without codes sends a message to your friend we’re onto her.”

“And.”

“And, whoever’s running these pages just sent out a press statement on the identity of the basement bomber.”

“The who?”

“Basement bomber. Whoever blew up the stations.” Barry called up another screen. “Missed it. Should have thought this through. Fucking hate boobies.”

“Boobies?”

“Traps. Too late now, it’s out there.”

Nicole looked at the screen to the right as it began scrolling with the announcement the identity of the London bomber would be revealed shortly. Barry typed away on his keyboard, another TV channel appearing on one of the screens. “This should be a larf,” he said in his south London accent, Nicole spotting the name Al Jazeera, wondering why Barry would bring that up and not the BBC. 

As the news items refreshed, they waited to see who would be named, Barry clicking on the link as soon as it appeared. “Well, that’s fucking bollocks,” he said, as he read the update. “MI6 don’t do this shit.”

Nicole stared at the screen, reading the announcement, the first time she had seen her name appear in a news piece, lowering her gun. She was being accused of having masterminded the attack, she alone, an intelligence officer working for MI6, albeit temporarily, was being branded the basement bomber. “It’s not true. It’s...it's a lie.”

“You know this bitch?” Barry said, pulling up the BBC news site. “Wouldn’t want to be whoever this is. So, you wanna see some other cool stuff?”

Nicole fled the house, driving back to M’s, the front door wide open as she pulled up outside, two MI6 agents dead in the hall, a sea of red before her. Her gun out she went into training mode, ready to kill anyone who crossed her path. Stepping on one of the bodies to avoid slipping she entered the hall, her senses heightened to the point she would have shot a pin if it dropped. 

Silence, the only sound her feet on M’s wooden floors, painstakingly covering the entire house. Returning to the lounge she spotted a small trail of blood, following it to the kitchen, the spots stopping at a pantry door. Opening it, gun ready to take out whoever was bleeding behind it, she found the bloody trail leading to the back, stopping at a wooden wall, realising this must be M’s entrance to a panic room. 

Discarding items from shelves, searching for a way in, there was nothing she could see that would allow her entry. Her phone out she called Waverly, praying she would pick up, hoping she was still alive.

The sound of Waverly’s voice the sweetest ever. “Oh God, Nicole where are you?”

“Kitchen. Are you in the safe room?”

“She’s been shot. Oh God, Oh God, I think she might die.”

“How do I get in?”

“I don’t know. She entered something on her phone. She’s bleeding heavily. What do I do?”

“Where? Waverly, where’s she bleeding?”

“Stomach. Nicole, what do I do?”

“I need to get in. Is M conscious?”

“M, M, Nicole’s outside.” Nicole heard the groan. “Waves, get me in.”

“I’m trying. M, please, how?”

M handed her phone to Waverly, whispering the entry number, the door opening once Waverly had entered the five digits. The sight greeting Nicole was not one she ever wanted to see again, Waverly kneeling on the floor supporting M’s head, the lower part of her clothes soaked in blood, M barely conscious, hanging on as best she could. Nicole was on the phone to the emergency services, wondering why MI6 had failed them, why no one had come to M’s rescue when her house was stormed.

It took an eternity for the ambulance to arrive, Waverly remaining in the same position, comforting M, Nicole darting back and forth to make sure she didn’t miss their arrival. She followed M in her car, Waverly in the ambulance, wondering if the night could get any worse. Accused of being the bomber, her boss shot, all she could do was focus on the immediate situation, worry about everything else when the time allowed.

As the emergency teams worked on M, Nicole had a chance to be with Waverly, her clothing ruined, traumatised once more by what had happened. Taking her in her arms she no longer knew how to comfort her lover, falling back on words even she no longer believed. “It’s okay. Waves, it’s okay.”

She felt Waverly push her away. “I’m done.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Waverly’s phone buzzed in her hand, not sure where she was going. “Nigel’s outside,” she said, her voice shaking, her eyes glazed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Waves, please.”

“I…I’ve got to go.”

“Not like this. It’s too dangerous.”

“We could have had a life,” she replied. “Why? Why this?”

“I’m sorry. Waves, I’m sorry.”

“I tried, but this is…I can’t. Not if this is it.”

Nicole followed Waverly along the corridor as she searched for the exit. “I love you.”

Waverly stopped for a moment, not turning to face the one she loved. “Let me go.”

Three words seared into Nicole’s heart, worse than the three Waverly uttered when they first split, that of hating her, worse than any branding the Widow could ever leave. This time she knew Waverly had seen too much of the life she led, knowing no one in their right mind would ever want that for themselves. It no longer mattered whether she could protect her partner, knowing Waverly was right, knowing she needed to let her go. 

With no more words left to say she watched as Waverly walked out of her life for a second time, utterly defeated. 

A doctor appeared from M’s room, nodding to say she could go in, monitors showing M was still alive, a lucky escape. Her hand reached over to touch Nicole’s, her voice barely audible. “They were after her.”

“Rest. I’ll deal with this.”

“She’s the link.”

“Waverly?”

M nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Why her?”

“Leverage.”

“What do I do?”

M’s monitors began flashing, an alarm sounding as her heart rate dropped bringing in a team to deal with the medical emergency. Ushered from the room, Nicole was left alone, not knowing where to go, or who to turn to, standing outside the hospital utterly lost.

A few moments later she would find herself at the end of guns pointing at her, police shouting to put her hands behind her head, removing her gun, forcing her to the ground. 

She had been played.

The journey to the police station was the longest ride, the early morning light breaking through, boats on the river going about their business, another normal day for everyone else. Handcuffed, considered a traitor to her country for supposedly blowing up stations, she was now on the other side of the law, without a friend in the world. 

Another holding cell, identical to the one she visited when she nearly strangled a stranger, her clothes still stained with M’s blood, her heart in pieces at having lost Waverly. Two officers entered, one roughly handcuffing her, the other pulling her up from the bed. No one spoke, no one looked at her, marching her along a brightly lit corridor to an interview room where two detectives were waiting.

Their questioning was relentless. Who was she working for besides MI6? What were her reasons for going against Queen and country? Why was there a large payment to her? Nicole shook her head. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”

Four hours of questioning produced the same response, resigning herself to the fact the detectives were not interested in her story, that a bigger game was in play, one in which she knew the Widow was coordinating. A knock on the door sent the younger detective outside, returning a few minutes later, closing his folder, whispering to his colleague. Leaving her alone in the room she knew her life was over on every conceivable level, accepting she had nothing more to lose other than her life, the Widow taking everything from her in one night.

As the door opened Nicole was not expecting to see the Prime Minister enter alone, the door closing behind her, taking a seat. “I must say I’m not surprised.”

“How’s your friend?”

“My friend. Oh, you mean Margot. Very well. I’m due to meet with her in Rome in two days.”

“Your other friend.”

“Oh, my other friend. She’s not happy with you. Can’t be helped. I’ll send your regards next time I see her.”

“Fucking traitor,” Nicole hissed.

The Prime Minister smiled, a smug smile to say she didn’t care being labelled in that way. “Perhaps, but I’m not the one with my name splashed all over the front pages. Rogue MI6 officer with a grudge against her boss.”

“The lists prove otherwise.”

“Lists. Lists. Oh, the ones that hacker found. Mysteriously vanished, like him. We’re nothing if not efficient. And, don’t for one moment think this meeting is on record. Only you and I know what has been said in this room.”

“I’ll make you pay for this. If it’s the last thing I do.”

The Prime Minister rose, her smug smile remaining. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong. In precisely two hours you will be taken from here, on route to court, except the vehicle you will be travelling in will not reach its destination.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do this? Why kill all those people?”

“I didn’t kill them. You did. Bon voyage.”

Returning to the holding cell she stared at the handcuffs still on her wrists, allowing the tears to fall for herself, finally. All she ever wanted to do was serve her country, be the best MI6 intelligence officer she could, make her parents proud, make Waverly proud. Except, here she was, accused of something she didn’t do, labelled a traitor, unable to clear her name, about to be killed by the very people she swore to protect.


	30. Blame

Three officers led her to the waiting prison van, her hands still handcuffed in front of her body, one shoving her roughly between the shoulder blades to make her climb the few steps into the vehicle, telling her to sit, slamming the door shut. With no phone, with no way of contacting anyone, she studied the inside, the last she would see of this world, a ready-made coffin by any other name. Her finger went to the tracker in her wrist, tapping three times in a parting gesture to the life she once led, wishing J was there for one final epic battle, never once imagining her life ending like this, downside up, outside in, front to back.

The good girls were bad, the Prime Minister in league with the devil and God’s new banker, benefitting from whatever Margot Clanton had to offer in the seedy underworld of tainted money, and corrupt politicians. The lists she had been promised to expose JOSHUA gone, removed from the dark web, no way of proving her innocence, even if it would be after her death. M would stick up for her, she hoped, if she survived. Then again maybe not, probably using her death as a cover to do what she needed to do. Did M know the British Prime Minister was a traitor? Maybe, maybe not. Did it matter anymore? Not really. Would Waverly believe the lies? She prayed she wouldn’t, the only thing left to pray for in her final moments.

The movement of the van as it left the police station sent a wave of panic through her body. Somewhere along this journey she was about to take she would meet her end. Perhaps a bullet in the chest, perhaps to the head, perhaps hands around her neck, less messy for those carrying out the deed she calculated. She might have a chance fighting off one if they attempted to strangle her, maybe two, fighting off a bullet aimed at her head, or her heart, not so much. Either way this was it, the final curtain, the big farewell.

The van’s motion had her holding onto the side rail to stop from bouncing off the seat, every turn, every slowing of the engine an agonising wait for the end to arrive. Then a long stretch on what she guessed must be motorway, the prison van picking up speed, Nicole unable to gauge how far they had travelled, or where they might be going. And, all the while a passage from Thomas Hardy’s ‘Tess’ returning to haunt her, that of the other date, the date holding more importance than a birthday in its arrival each and every year, knowing this was the day Hardy had alluded to:

“…a day which lay sly and unseen among all the other days of the year, giving no sign or sound when she annually passed over it; but not the less surely there. When was it?”

That day was today.

Eternity would have been shorter compared to this journey, her heart hurting as it beat behind her ribcage, fear taking over as she knew the minutes were ticking down until the moment she would step into the great unknown.

The van slowed, turning right, the surface of whatever road they were travelling on jolting her off the seat. Landing hard on the floor, wincing at the sharp pain travelling through her hip, she pulled herself back up onto the seat, waiting, waiting. The moment of praying over.

Nothing. No sound, the vehicle at a stop, panting, taking in air before the deed was done. A gun shot, not a machine gun, a hand gun she assessed. Another shot, nearer this time, directly outside the van, bracing herself, waiting for the door to open, hoping it would be quick, hoping she would not have to die slowly. A voice, a fist banging on the door. “You okay?”

Xavier’s voice. It sounded like Xavier. “Is that you?”

“It’s me. Is that you?”

“Get me out.”

“Trying. Give me a moment.”

The door opened, Xavier’s head appearing in the entrance. “Whatcha doing in there?”

She had never been so relieved to see anyone in her entire life, waiting for the handcuffs to be removed, hugging him, never wanting to let go, tears falling without reservation. “How?” she said, composing herself eventually, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“J.”

It was then Nicole saw her friend standing a few feet away, that boyish smile on his face. “Three is missiles, two is for extraction. Will you ever learn?”

Nicole pushed Xavier to one side, rushing to hug J. “I thought. You’re alive. I’ve missed you.”

“Didn’t say that to me,” Xavier said, pretending to pout.

“Missed you too. Really, really glad to see both of you. But seriously, you left it a bit fucking late guys.”

“Couldn’t let you go out with a whimper,” J said. “Not the done thing in MI6.”

“What now?” she asked, still hugging J.

Xavier patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll have to clear up here first. Make it look like you didn’t survive. Technically you’re dead from now on. Like J here.”

“Better than being actually dead. I can go with that.”

“You can’t contact anyone. Not even Waverly.”

Nicole nodded. “I understand.”

Disabling the tracker on the prison van, Xavier drove it to a reservoir close to Heathrow airport, J following behind with Nicole in a hire car, the pair watching as Xavier launched the van into the deep water, the dead guards in the back, surfacing a few moments later. “Not ideal,” J said. “Would have preferred it to look like an accident. Still, it will suffice for now and buy us time.”

“For what?” Nicole asked.

“Clearing your name. Bringing the bad guys down. Can’t fight a ghost.”

“That water is freezing,” Xavier said, wringing out his tee shirt as he approached. “Catch my death.”

Nicole shuddered at those words. “So many questions.”

“All in good time,” J replied. “First, we need to get out of the country for a while. I have a private plane waiting to take us to Morocco.”

“Didn’t pack my suntan lotion,” Nicole quipped. “Or anything really. Will there be a shop?”

“Not where we’re going. We stay low, under the radar. We’ll have the essentials, no more. We’re bandits now.”

As their small plane took off, Nicole looked out over London, wishing she was with Waverly, hoping one day they might find a way back to each other, knowing that day would be yet another important anniversary in the turn of a year.

Waverly lay on her bed in Chalfield, her mother stroking her hair, the way she always had when her youngest had had a bad dream. She hadn’t wanted to end her relationship with Nicole, her love still as strong, the trauma of events of the previous night sending her into a spiral of panic, unable to work out where to go from having witnessed the unfolding scene.

It still looped in her mind. Having fallen asleep, she was awoken to sounds of shouting, M yelling at someone from the stairs, telling them she had a loaded gun. A shot, two shots, M bursting into her room telling her to dress, Waverly still unsure what was going on. “Get up, now,” M ordered. “Stay behind me.”

She did as she was told, M standing guard, her hand gun pointed at the bedroom door ready to shoot anyone who entered. Grabbing the nearest items from the floor, she dressed, her fingers fumbling the simplest of tasks, her mind in overdrive. “What’s happening?”

“Thugs. We need to get to the kitchen. Stay close. On two I open this door. If I go down, get my gun.”

“I’ve…I’ve never. I can’t shoot.”

“You will if you have to,” M replied. “Don’t stop until we get downstairs.”

M’s hand was on the handle of the door, opening it quickly, resuming her hold on her gun. Waverly watched as she left the room, her own legs unable to move. “Now, move now,” M shouted, her footsteps on the stairs. “Waverly now.”

She wanted to move, wanted to follow, but her body was frozen to the spot. “I…I can’t.”

“Now, or I shoot you myself.”

Her legs moved forward without having any control, her heart pounding, her breathing fast, her mind no longer able to think clearly, her body operating on adrenaline. She made it to the top of the stairs, M further down, eventually coming up behind her, every nerve in her body alert to danger. 

“We move together, on three.”

Waverly waited to hear three, it never came, a shot breaking the count, from M’s gun, or another’s she couldn’t be sure. M was moving again, the count redundant, Waverly keeping up as best she could. Another shot, M dipping into the lounge for cover. “Behind the couch,” she yelled, pointing to the item. “Now.”

Another shot, then another, Waverly lying flat on the ground behind the couch, her hands over her ears. Another shot, a groan, a man’s voice. Silence, Waverly not knowing whether she should move, or stay still. “We go now,” M yelled. “Waverly, you need to move.”

Crawling out from behind her hiding place, she was about to stand when another shot rang out, M falling to the floor, letting out an agonising groan. Before she could think, M’s gun was in her hand pointing it at the intruder in front of her, pulling the trigger, the bullet hitting him in the shoulder, Waverly firing again, missing, and again, no longer afraid to defend herself, or Nicole’s boss. 

M’s voice was calling to her, telling her they needed to get to the kitchen, Waverly helping her up, making their way. As they entered the safe room Waverly knew she too had crossed a line, shooting someone to protect her own life. Kill, or be killed. Dog eat dog.

Cradling M’s head on her lap she watched as the blood drained from her body, praying she would survive, praying Nicole would find them, praying this wasn’t the end. 

Her father entered the bedroom. “I’m so sorry,” was all he could say.

“It’s not your fault.”

“The news.”

Waverly sat up. “What’s on the news?”

Her father looked at his daughter, clearly shaken, unable to tell her what was being reported. Leaving her room, Waverly grabbed the television remote, she and her mother listening as a BBC reporter recounted the events leading to Nicole’s death. “It’s not true,” she cried. “She wouldn’t. That’s not her.”

“They probably have the wrong person,” her mother said, by way of consoling her daughter.

“She’s not like that. She can’t be. Oh God, she can’t be. I didn’t mean to.”

“Hush,” her mother soothed. “We all know Nicole. She wouldn’t do something like this. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“But, she’s dead. They’re saying she’s dead. She can’t be.”

“It was an accident.”

“How? It’s murder. They killed her. The Widow killed her.”

“Who dear?”

“She had no one. Oh God, I left her thinking it was over.”

“Waverly, you need to rest. Wynonna is on her way. She’ll give you something to help you sleep.”

“I killed her. With my words. I killed her.”

Nicole sipped her Old Fashioned cocktail as their plane headed towards an unknown destination, thankful for friends who would get her out of tight situations, vowing to make good on all the wrongs carried out in the space of a few days. So many had lost their lives in the bombings. For what? For some crazy political game the head of her country apparently was involved in, at the very least aware of, happy to let her take the blame.

And then, there was Waverly. She had to make it right for her, not wanting her to think badly of the one she once loved. Her arms felt empty, as did her heart, as the next part of her journey began.


	31. Bandits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Eyes (FVEY) refers to an alliance comprising Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the United States. These countries are bound by the multilateral UKUSA Agreement for joint cooperation in signals intelligence, military intelligence, and human intelligence.
> 
> Notable people who have been under Five Eyes surveillance: Charlie Chaplin, Diana Princess of Wales, Nelson Mandela, John Lennon, Jane Fonda and German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

Nicole emerged from her tent, a golden sun beginning to rise slowly over amber dunes, the peace and tranquillity of the desert that time of day soothing to her soul. The only thing missing from the stunning scenery stretching beyond their temporary home was Waverly, wondering what she might be doing in that moment, the time difference only one hour. Probably still asleep she guessed, as she made her way to the communal dining tent, J already seated at one of the tables busily tapping on his laptop, smiling as she entered.

A whole month they had lived in a sea of sand, close to the border between Morocco and Algeria, a remote campsite run by a contact of MI6, no questions asked as to why the three were there. She had kept up with the news in the UK, all the lies told about her hand in the bombings, lies about her supposed life as a double agent, lies about her attempt to murder M, lies about her death, lies about the Basement Bomber no longer being a threat. For all the lies, the murder of Barry grated the most, her gun conveniently identified as the murder weapon. Poor Barry, trying to help, ending up killed by rogue players in a rogue government. 

It took time to adjust to being dead, reading of her demise in the Times newspaper a surreal moment. It made no mention of her career at MI6, nor any mention of her treachery, simply that she had been taken too young, assuming the wording must have been at the insistence of her mother.

Now officially a ghost, she was in the same position as J, having to let the world carry on as though she were no longer in it, going about its daily business without her. An awful lie, but a better outcome than she imagined in those final minutes before being rescued. J had explained how his own deceptive death occurred, how he had been tracking one of the Widow’s friends, Nur Sabir, who visited all four stations multiple times in the days leading up to the bombing at roughly the same time each evening, a dry run for what she would carry out. 

“I don’t understand why you had to make it look like you died,” Nicole had said.

“M’s idea,” J replied. “Needed me on the outside.”

“She asked me too. I said no.”

“She knew this went to the top. It was the reason she called the meeting that day to reveal we had JOSHUA in our sights. A warning shot to those involved.”

“The Prime Minister.”

“She refused to attend the meeting initially, M making it clear if she wasn’t there she would kick up a stink.”

“Why didn’t she say?”

“M’s role is more than you and I see,” J replied. “I’m lucky to have had her ear and she mine.”

“She trusted me too,” Nicole added, feeling a pang of jealousy at J’s relationship with their boss.

“She often said you would be her replacement.”

“I’m a bit dead.”

“All in good time. We wait for their next move then we act.”

“London wasn’t on the list.”

“Why would it be? The attack had already been carried out, hence the other list.”

“I knew that,” Nicole replied, realising her rookie mistake. “Australia was next, from what I remember, then Canada, New Zealand third.”

“Five Eyes.”

“The alliance. Why?”

“There are those who would prefer to operate in the dark. The alliance cramps their style. M was fighting a difficult battle to save MI6 from a Prime Minister who went to Cambridge.”

Nicole grinned. “Right, Cambridge. Beat them twice in the boat race.”

“As one should. We need to await M’s instructions on what to do next.”

“She knows?”

“She knows.”

Waverly sat at her desk, playing with Nicole’s ring on her engagement finger, never wanting to take it off, the diamonds a reminder of the longevity of love, even if the body no longer existed. Standing by the side of Nicole’s grave had been the hardest thing she ever had to do. A bleak day, raining from what she could remember, the rest of the day a blur. Someone giving a eulogy on her lover’s life, a friend, someone she didn’t know. Unfamiliar faces, Nicole’s mother looking as though she had aged twenty years in the space of a few weeks.

They consoled each other, remembering the good times, remembering all the things Nicole did that brought them joy. Her heart broken beyond repair, she vowed to clear Nicole’s name, never once believing she was responsible for the bombings, never once doubting the love Nicole had for Queen and country. 

She returned to the grave as often as she could, tucked away in a corner of the local parish church where Nicole had been baptised, no headstone for fear those who naively assumed her to be the Basement Bomber would desecrate her final resting place. Not that it mattered, with no body in the ground, with no body ever having been found, it was more symbolic than real, Waverly accepting she might never know where Nicole’s body lay for the longest sleep.

The magazine launch was a success, even if her heart was no longer in it, all the while her mind on what Nicole would have thought of all the pomp and circumstance, guessing she would have rolled her eyes, shied away from having her photo taken, praised her for bringing the publication to life. Just to have been there by her side would have meant the world. To hear her voice again, one more time, singing her stupid songs, being bossy, being protective, being loyal, being Nicole. 

Charlotte was there to console her, Waverly spending most evenings at her friend’s flat but a short walk from Nicole’s house in Wellington Square. Nicole’s mother briefly mentioned her Will at the funeral, Waverly not ready to take on what had been left to her, knowing she would have to make a decision at some stage whether to keep Cassillis and Nicole’s London home, or let them go as she had had to do with the one she loved.

M was recovering, the bullet missing her vital organs, thankful for Waverly’s quick thinking in shooting the guy who had shot first. She welcomed her visits, Waverly needing a connection to Nicole, talking for hours about the magazine, about their mutual love of Scotland, M promising to visit if Waverly ever decided to go ahead with renovating the castle, running that café she always wanted. 

“She was headstrong,” M remarked, as she adjusted her position in the hospital bed. “Which was a useful trait.”

Waverly smiled, remembering all the times Nicole had tried to tell her what to do. “She liked to think she had it all her own way. She hated me shopping, spent days telling me I’d bought too many gifts.”

M chuckled. “She wasn’t one for presents. Gave me a pen once, for Christmas I believe.”

“Oh God, me too. Our first Christmas together.”

“I’ll admit it’s the only one I use. Practical to a fault.”

“I have mine too.”

“We’ll sort this mess out.”

“She didn’t do it.”

“Of course she didn’t. I lost two good operatives as a result, and a third is missing. I for one will get to the bottom of this.”

Xavier entered the dining tent. “Bacon and eggs, and French toast for me,” he announced, rubbing his stomach. “I had a dream about them.”

J glanced up from his laptop. “Pleased to know that. I’ve had a message from M if you would like to join us.”

“Need coffee first. And food, lots of food. Go ahead, I’ll join you.”

“The Widow is on the move, last known location Sydney, presumably to coordinate an attack to weaken Five Eyes further.”

“Love Sydney,” Xavier replied, bringing over a full plate of food. “Honeymoon.”

“How’s the baby?” Nicole said, watching as Xavier began shovelling bacon into his mouth.

“The cutest. Takes after me. Wish I’d been there for the birth.”

“Where are they?”

“Turkey, with Jules’ parents.”

Nicole felt the tug on her heartstrings, knowing each of them had had to make sacrifices for what they were doing. Xavier was having to hide his family, not able to be present for the birth of his second child, although the way he was currently tucking into his breakfast it was hard to tell the degree of his suffering. J’s partner was in the same position as Waverly, assuming he was dead, having to grieve alone. 

“So, we go to Sydney,” Nicole said, watching as Xavier returned to the breakfast bar to fill his plate. “You’ll explode,” she added, looking at the mound of food as he returned.

“In training. Still easily outrun you.”

“You’re on. Plus sand surfing. It’s four all.”

“Children, children,” J interrupted. “As much as you need your challenges, we have a war to win.”

Xavier put down his fork, placing a hand over his heart, breaking into a rendition of Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll Meet Again.’

“So many operatives and I get kindergarten,” J observed. “We’re going to Sydney.”

The Widow lay on a lounger by the pool of a private residence overlooking Sydney Harbour, her body absorbing the Australian sunshine while Cleo relaxed in the infinity pool. Her only disappointment in the whole sordid business of London was in losing her pet project, Nicole’s death not what she wanted, accepting the Prime Minister had her motivation for murder. 

Hers was not to reason why, doing whatever was required, her own motivation that of destroying her ex-lover’s life, piece by delicious piece. She consoled herself with the fact her bank balance was fatter to the tune of twenty million dollars, a thank you from Margot for her part in the bombings, not that she had done much, other than set the bait for Nicole to swallow in going after those lists.

Those lists, what a tease. Who was good? Who was bad? Waverly’s father should not have appeared, another tease, JOSHUA’s efforts to entice him over to the dark side falling on deaf ears. He had spent most of his adult life navigating one political party after another, the family motto being vincit veritas, truth conquers, adding ‘depending on the times and the players.’ 

He knew there were those whose idea of what constituted the truth were questionable, not least the current Prime Minister, wary of those who would use his vast media empire as a useful weapon to spread lies and misinformation. His own life had been threatened too many times to keep count, the circumstances leading to the death of his eldest daughter forever a mystery, suspecting foul play, his commitment to not to being intimidated hardening the day he had to identify Willa’s body. It should have broken him. It nearly did, but for the love of his family and his two surviving daughters.

He knew Waverly’s abduction was another attempt to get him to change his mind, scare him, as he suspected was the attack on M’s house. She was his angel, as Wynonna was, although she was the more headstrong, like him, wanting to be a doctor, to save people, the legacy of having lost a sister she was sure she could have saved if only she had known how. Waverly was too young to understand, only three at the time, held by Wynonna as the motorboat circled back on them, the propeller blade narrowly missing both their heads.

From that moment on, Wynonna made sure Waverly was safe, becoming a second mother, Waverly rebelling when she went to university, only to find love in the arms of someone equally protective. Nicole would wait for her outside the lecture hall, her rowing hoodie on, leaning against the low wall close to the door where Waverly would emerge, the two making their way back to Waverly’s room, making out, thinking this would be their world forever.


	32. Bittersweet

Hearing M was the second best voice she had heard in weeks after Xavier outside the prison van. “I owe my life to Waverly,” she said, as she raised the back of her hospital bed a little higher. “Not a bad shot. I’ve suggested she attend one of our training days.”

“You’re training her?” Nicole said, a little put out. “She doesn’t like guns.”

“A useful precaution.”

“How is she?”

“Coping. It will be a shock when she finds out the truth. She really does love you. Or, should that be did given your current status.”

“Hoping does.”

“She wears your ring.”

Nicole already knew, spotting it on her finger in press photos for the launch of the magazine. There had also been a short interview on a daily talk show, Waverly sounding confident as she explained the concept behind Womenly, playing with the ring as she spoke, looking as stunning as ever. Her father had increased security, a permanent bodyguard accompanied her everywhere, along with a new driver, both highly trained, both ready to take out anyone who even looked at Waverly in a strange way.

“What’s the plan for Sydney?” Nicole said, not wanting to dwell too long on home. 

“Surveillance, for now.”

“What’s the point of going, if we can’t do anything?” Xavier said, about to eat a slice of toast.

“All in good time. The members of Five Eyes are aware.”

“What’s their target?” Nicole asked, watching Xavier demolish the toast.

“J will fill you in on the details. You do not interfere, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

The call ended, Nicole and Xavier waited for J to outline the attack. “Schools. Petra Blankova disappeared from her home two weeks ago, last known whereabouts Singapore, although not confirmed.”

“Schools,” Nicole repeated. “They’re targeting children.”

“Specific schools where specific children attend.”

“What has this got to do with the Widow?”

“It appears she is currently residing close to one of the schools, at a shoreline property. Presumably to assist Blankova in her activities, possibly to aid her escape.”

“And, our counterparts in Australia are going to let them waltz in, blow up schools, endanger the lives of countless children.”

“Almost. The two schools in question have been alerted of a potential attack. Precautions will have been taken, including the removal of those children who are most likely to be the targets.”

“And, the other children?” Nicole pressed.

“This is not our call,” J replied. “We shouldn’t even be there.”

“So, we sit back and watch kids die.”

J closed his laptop. “This is not a moment for sentimentality. If you are not prepared to follow orders I suggest you remain here.”

With that J marched off, leaving the pair looking at each other. “He’s missing his partner,” Xavier said, once J was out of hearing range. “I heard him asking M to make contact with him, but M refused.”

“Why?”

“No idea. To protect us, to protect him. M does things her way.”

“I’ve never seen J like this.”

“He’s soft on the inside. He knew about the bombings remember, but had to accept whatever was going to happen.”

“I can’t. We’re dealing with children here.”

“Look, maybe J’s right. Maybe sit this one out.”

“Not likely. I won’t do anything to jeopardise the assignment.” Xavier gave her a look. “I promise, Scouts honour.”

“You weren’t in the Scouts.”

“Dib, dab, dob,” Nicole replied, making the cub salute, earning a laugh from Xavier.

She found J in his tent, asking if she could come in, sitting on the edge of a small wooden chest. “I’ll do what is asked of me.”

J looked up from his laptop. “I understand your emotional attachment, but we are fighting something larger. It would do to keep that in mind.”

“I will. I’m sorry.”

“What we’re doing will buy back our lives.”

“I get it.”

“If we fail we may not get a second chance, which means living a lie for the rest of our lives, kept apart from those we love.”

“J, I get it. I want to go home to Waverly, if she’ll have me. The sooner the better.”

J returned his gaze to the laptop. “We do what we’re told.”

As she walked away from camp she counselled herself to stay focused on returning home, being with Waverly, making a new life for themselves. The memory of strawberry jam entered her mouth, wanting that life more than anything.

Waverly was busy with her editor when Charlotte dropped by, hoping to steal her friend away for brunch. “I’m beyond busy,” she said, shuffling papers on her desk. “The next edition is behind schedule. Another time.”

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Charlotte insisted. “You’ve been moping the last few days. Plus, I rather fancy your bodyguard.”

“Fine, give me a few minutes.”

They sat in the Italian restaurant where Nicole had suddenly bolted, Waverly breaking up a breadstick, Charlotte sipping a soda water. “So, Jago has a friend I’d like you to meet. Eden, a photographer. Very you.”

“I can’t. It’s too soon.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just go for one drink.”

“No,” Waverly snapped. “Sorry, but no.”

“She’s dying to meet you. We could make up a foursome.”

“Lottie, I know you’re trying to help, but Nicole’s still in my heart.”

“I know sweetie. And, I miss her too. But, the world moves on. Are you set on selling the castle?”

“I don’t know. I can’t decide. It’s not my home, not without her. But, I need to keep her close.”

“Sweetie, you can’t keep her as a ghost for the rest of your life. She wouldn’t want that.”

Waverly’s eyes watered. “I never told her I loved her. I walked away. I should have said it.”

“She knew. Sweetie, she knew how much you loved her.”

“I just want the world to stop, to go back to where we were before…”

“Look, you got to be with her again. She knew about the party. I accidentally let it slip.”

“She never got to wear the ring. She’ll never see it. I just…it hurts so much.”

Charlotte reached across the table. “Come out with us this evening. No strings.”

Waverly shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s too soon.”

“Then we come to your father’s. No argument.”

As much as she didn’t want to see anyone she knew Charlotte had her best interests at heart, forcing her to get on with her life, even if all she wanted to do was curl up with Marmaduke in a dark room. He smelt of Nicole, holding him close to her face, hugging him, her tears making his fur spiky. Her mother was staying with them in London, as was Wynonna and John, the family coming together to help her come to terms with the loss. 

Entering the house that evening, Wynonna was busy in the kitchen preparing snacks for Waverly’s guests, hugging her sister, pouring her a large vodka and soda, asking how her day was. “I’m not ready,” was all she could say before bursting into tears.

“I know, I know. We’re here for you. Go have a bath, I’ll sort out here.”

“I don’t know what to do any more.”

Wynonna took the glass from Waverly’s hand, pulling her into another hug. “You do nothing until you’re ready. And, if that’s never, that’s okay. You know she nearly took out a bird at Chalfield. Right on the head. Impressive shot.”

Waverly’s body tensed. “They shot her.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Hey, why don’t we take a trip to Cassillis? You and me, go see this castle.”

“We were going to swim in the river. And, run a café. And, make jam.”

“Okay, not sure about swimming. We’re talking Scotland. Maybe running a café isn’t such a bad idea. I can see that working. Selling tea cloths. You like tea cloths.”

Waverly broke down, sobbing on Wynonna’s shoulder. “She hated tea cloths.”

Nicole packed the few belongings she had acquired while at the campsite, ready for their journey to Sydney. A private helicopter took them the five hour journey to Marrakesh, there to await their fake papers, Nicole spending time losing herself in the souks, her hair cut short and coloured by one of the women back at the campsite allowing her to hide it under a cap. 

Stopping at one stall she picked up a small cloth, the front of which depicted a number of famous landmarks in the city, Nicole smiling to herself, haggling with the stall owner until a reasonable price for the item had been agreed, stuffing it in her bag. A present for Waverly.

Xavier had found a café, sitting outside watching the world go by, tucking into a bowl of olives, a glass of Moroccan tea beside it. Joining him she took in the sights and sounds, allowing the world around her to go about its business, glad to be alive, glad to be able to experience the hustle and bustle of life, not remotely interested in her, or her companion. It felt good to be a ghost, not having to worry about brown envelopes appearing unexpectedly, wondering if she should do the same to the Widow.

In a few hours they would be on another plane heading to Sydney, watching and waiting for the bitch to take part in something despicable, something she would have to stand back and allow happen. And, the world turned as she sat nursing her mint tea, thinking about Waverly, thinking about jam making, thinking about all the places they would go, all the things they would do if she ever got the chance.

Waverly pretended to be enjoying the company, Jago cracking jokes, his friend, Waverly’s blind date quiet, glancing over occasionally, following her to the kitchen when she went to open another bottle of wine. “He’s quite annoying,” she said, “but means well. Can I help?”

Waverly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know Charlotte wanted this.”

“It’s okay. I’m so sorry about your loss.”

Waverly turned Nicole’s ring on her finger, still uncomfortable with any sympathy shown by others. “Thanks.”

“Do you have a photo?”

“She wasn’t one…she didn’t like.”

“I don’t believe what they said about her.”

“You don’t know her,” Waverly snapped. “Sorry, sorry, can we not talk about her.”

“No, it’s fine. I lost my brother last year. Motorcycle accident in India.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eden moved closer, placing her hands on Waverly’s waist, feeling her go rigid. “It still hurts, but it gets easier.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Eden’s hand brushed aside Waverly’s hair, exposing her neck, her eyes drinking in bare skin. “I’ll go. Call me if you need someone to talk to.”

As soon as Eden had left, Waverly threw up in the sink, her head pounding, wanting to scream at Charlotte for having suggested the foursome, never wanting anyone to touch her ever again. Charlotte found her upstairs hugging Marmaduke, sitting on the bed apologising, recognising Waverly would need time to come to terms with her loss.

On the bedside cabinet was the small box where Nicole’s ring remained, unseen, untouched, unworn, a reminder of what they could have had together if only the Widow hadn’t come between them. Once Charlotte had left she played the video Nicole sent her from Japan, that stupid song, the one she threatened to sing at their wedding, making her laugh and cry simultaneously. A bittersweet reminder of how funny Nicole could be, how her quick wit and cheeky smile got her out of trouble, and into.

The night she scaled the drainpipe to enter her room at college one of the funniest, Nicole managing to grab hold of the windowsill as the pipe split, sending pieces to the ground. Scrambling inside, Waverly closing the window moments before a warden made his rounds, they tumbled onto the bed in hysterics, Nicole a little tipsy having celebrated with her rowing team another victory over Cambridge.


	33. Behind

Another long flight, Nicole was less than pleased to be awoken by Xavier as their plane made its descent into Sydney. A cramped apartment in a quiet part of the city would be their new hiding place, for no other reason she assumed than to bear witness to the murder of innocent children. Except, M had an ulterior motive for their presence, an invitation she wanted to extend to the Widow to reconsider her allegiances, hoping to get her to testify the British government had been infiltrated by traitors at the highest level. The Prime Minister had commiserated with M at the loss of her operatives, wishing her a speedy recovery, knowing better than to finish the job of murdering the head of MI6 with so much media attention surrounding the bombings. The botched assault on M’s house was sufficient for now, something which may well prove just as effective in replacing her with someone more in step with the PM's less than legitimate agenda.

Nicole spent another lonely night in a place she didn’t know, in a location she didn’t recognise, in a country so far from home and Waverly’s arms. An early morning run took her on a new route, watching as families left their homes, children getting into cars for their journey to school, passing other children on foot going to their places of learning. She knew something would happen in a few hours’ time over which she would have no control, knowing the worlds of those going about their everyday business would be rocked forever after what the Widow and Petra Blankova had planned.

The heart of a community. That was the theme with every attack. Go for the heart. Bombing London’s underground was akin to attacking the heart of the Capital, knowing how much Londoners relied on it. Not simply as a physical means of getting around, but as a connector, and a protector in times of need. Those who had sheltered underground during WWII, lying next to each other night after night on platforms deep below the surface, safe from the bombs dropping from above.

Waverly listened to her editor drone on about delays and technical problems, doodling a jam jar on her pad, nodding when there was a pause. “The first edition was a huge success. The second needs to have even more impact. We need a theme. Something to bring it all together.”

“Loyalty,” Waverly replied, without thinking.

“Yes. If I remove some of the less zingy stories. Plus a stronger front cover image. I’ll get to work on it right away.”

“No, I meant. But, actually why not. It’s who she is. Was.”

The editor was about to leave, turning to face her. “I never met her, but you seemed…She would have been great on the cover.”

“Would have been awkward, given what she did for a living.”

“I saw the news. Was she really? You know, a proper spy.”

“She didn’t do it.”

“Oh no, I don’t believe the news. Always thought it odd it was only her being accused for something that big. Plus, no video at any of the stations. I mean.”

“Thank you. I need to make a few calls.”

As soon as her editor closed the door she was on the phone to M. “Why wasn’t there any video?”

“Sorry, I’m not following.”

“The stations. Why wasn’t Nicole caught entering the stations? Or, the van. Where’s the evidence?”

“Indeed,” M replied. “I’ll make an intelligence officer of you yet.”

“They said she was shot escaping, but there were no images.”

M dragged her legs over the side of the bed. “Waverly, there are some things not for the public gaze.”

“Did you see them?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“M please, did you see them?”

“I saw them,” M replied, sensing the hope in Waverly’s voice. “I’m sorry, I know what you’re wishing to be true, given no body was recovered.”

“She said she wouldn’t die. She promised.”

“I know, but this was one time she couldn’t hold to it. I’m due to be released in a few days. How about we go practise that shooting of yours.”

“I’m…okay. I’m sorry. I just keep feeling she’s alive, that she’ll waltz back in, all smiles and how was your day, as if nothing happened.”

“We’d all like that,” M said, wincing as she put weight on her feet. “How is the magazine coming along?”

“Oh, you know, we’re going with loyalty for issue number two. I nearly put Nicole on the front cover of the first one.”

“That would have done her ego no good at all. I can imagine her placing a copy on my desk just to annoy me.”

“She wouldn’t do it. Said it went against what she was doing in MI6.”

“She did like to dress up.”

“Oh God, yes. Loved fashion. I’d better go.”

“Waverly, she would want you to not put your life on hold. Go be amazing for her.”

Waverly heard the words, unable to respond, ending the call as the tears came. She was about to hide in her bathroom, do what she had done on most days since returning to work, sit and sob watching Nicole’s video, or listening to her messages, or reading her texts. Her phone rang, a number she didn’t recognise, not in the mood to speak to anyone, deciding she better take it in case it was to do with the magazine. “Hi, it’s Eden. I wanted to apologise for last night.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, no. Hey, I’m in the area. Just wondered if you fancied that drink.”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m really busy.”

“Hey, no worries. Only, I’ve got a bottle and two glasses and I’m sitting in your reception.”

“Oh, guessing Charlotte.”

“Said you could use a friend who’s been through something similar.”

“I…okay. I need to leave in half an hour.”

“Hey, that’s cool. See you shortly.”

There was something about Eden Waverly couldn’t place. An easy manner, an attentiveness, listening to her explain the concept of the magazine, suggesting a few ideas for images, ones her own photographer hadn’t presented. A glass of wine later she was beginning to relax in Eden’s company, agreeing with her statements about empowering women through image, not simply objectifying them as mannequins, or body parts. 

Eden’s portfolio was impressive, strong women represented in ways Waverly hadn’t considered, glad to have another’s input on the task of positioning the magazine to the right audience. “I can see what you’re trying to achieve,” Eden said, refilling their glasses. “The media, those who pull the strings, think all we’re here for is to look pretty.”

“So true. She would have said the same.”

“Your ex.”

“She’s not my ex,” Waverly snapped. “Sorry, sorry. She was my fiancé.”

“Hey, it’s me who needs to apologise. She’s still alive to you, I get it. I still talk to my brother, listen to his stupid messages on my phone. And his YouTube channel on his trips. It’s kept me connected.”

“I don’t want to let her go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“When does it stop hurting?”

Eden shrugged, placing her glass on Waverly’s desk. “Some days you laugh, some you cry. They stay with us and that’s all that matters. They’re not gone.”

“There’s no one like her.”

“Why would there be? My brother was unique. Don’t look for her in another because you won’t find her.”

“Thank you. Sorry, I really need to go.”

“Hey, how about we take in a movie some time?”

“No. Look, you’re really nice-“

“But.”

“It’s too soon.”

“As friends. Nothing more. You choose the movie.” Eden grabbed her leather jacket, retrieving her portfolio from Waverly’s desk. “Don’t put your life on hold. She wouldn’t want that.”

Nicole rested against her hired scooter, a pair of binoculars against her eyes, scanning the grounds of the school she had been assigned. Ascham’s, one of the oldest girls’ schools in Australia where several children of prominent politicians were boarding, the school supposedly prepared for an attack. J’s voice was in her ear, talking about the lack of decent crosswords, wondering whether he should create his own. 

Xavier interrupted their discussion. “Guys, I don’t want to alarm you but there’s no movement at my school.”

“Nor mine,” Nicole added. “Unless, something was planted days ago, can’t see how this is going to go down.”

J was silent, listening in to communications by Australia’s secret service and local police. “Oh shit. St Catherine’s. The target is in Waverley. Go, go, go.”

“What?” Nicole replied. “Oh fuck. I knew it. The old swing back. On it. Xavier, meet you there.”

Nicole was already on her scooter, J calling out the address. “One explosion reported,” he said, as she raced to the scene. “Do not go in. Repeat, do not go in.”

As her scooter drew up alongside the school grounds she could see the smoke billowing from one of the buildings, praying no one was hurt. Xavier had further to travel, Nicole positioning herself close to where the bomb detonated, binoculars out, watching as frightened children and teachers emerged from the main entrance. “They’re sitting ducks,” she said, as they filed out. “Where’s the services?”

“On their way,” J replied. “Stay out of it.”

Nicole took in the chaotic scene, realising no one was coming to help, realising if she didn’t direct the children she would have to watch a massacre. She had seen how Petra Blankova worked, drawing out those by an initial blast only to gun them down as they fled. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter what she had been ordered to do. Loyalty wasn’t loyalty if it was blind, and this was no time to let innocent lives be sacrificed simply by following orders.

Jumping the perimeter gate, waving her hands, shouting as loudly as she could, she caught the attention of the head teacher. “This way. MI6, this way.”

The head teacher hesitated, not wanting to go against instructions, deliberating what to do. The sound of a machine gun changed her mind, turning, pointing to where Nicole was waving, directing everyone to go towards her. A split-second decision, based on gut, one she would later come to acknowledge saved the lives of the children in her care.


	34. But

“What part of do not go in did you not understand?” J said in Nicole’s earpiece.

“All of it.”

“You have jeopardised the entire mission by not following orders.”

“Stop shouting, you’ll deafen me.”

“I knew I should have left you behind in Morocco. One job, you had one job and you failed. And, what possessed you to shout out you are MI6? Anything else, you could have shouted anything else. But no, MI6. Wait till our Australian counterparts get wind of that. Honestly. MI6. Might as well have had it in big writing on your top.”

Xavier pulled up on his scooter. “He’s not happy with you.”

“Really,” she replied, “how can you tell?”

“When M finds out, she’ll…she’ll-“

“Kill me. Yep, dead again, lucky me.”

“Don’t antagonise,” Xavier suggested. “If it’s any consolation J, she’s got her sorry face on.”

“Where’s the Widow?”

The pair looked at each other. “On it,” Xavier said. “H follow me. Do not be seen.”

“If you mess this up OOH,” J yelled in her ear, “I will personally, repeat personally shoot you myself.”

“Can everyone stop trying to kill me. Guys, I’m sorry, okay.”

They reached the Widow’s hideaway too late for Xavier to leave M’s message. She was already on her way with Petra and Cleo to a private airport where her plane was waiting, their job done even though Petra had wanted to linger a little longer and finish the work she started. Had the person directing children and staff away from her line of fire not been there she surely could have made more of an impact.

Sydney’s news channels were calling Nicole a hero, who stepped up when needed, saving the lives of so many. Appeals for the identity of this stranger were going unanswered, many assuming it to be a man wearing a navy blue hoodie and baseball cap. Some thought they had seen the person get in a car after the attack, others said it might have been a scooter, reporters asking for any information on the name and whereabouts of the Sydney Saviour, as he, or she was now being dubbed. A vast improvement on the Basement Bomber label Nicole currently had to accept.

An interview with the head of St. Catherine’s provided little additional information, still in shock, the teacher grateful to whoever had the presence of mind to direct her and those in her care away from the path of Petra Blankova’s gun. The sound of its rapid fire something that would haunt her forever. At the end of the interview the reporter asked if she wanted to say something to the Sydney Saviour, tears welling as the teacher held the microphone. “I…whoever you are, thank you. Thank you for saving us.”

Nicole was unaware of the fuss being made around her quick-thinking actions, she and Xavier heading back to the apartment, having failed in their actual mission. The three listened to M scolding them for deviating from the task, frustrated at Xavier missing the opportunity to approach the Widow. M knew the Prime Minister was circling, itching to have her removed, determined that should not happen. She would need a more direct approach if she was to succeed in exposing the corruption at the heart of the nation.

Waverly had seen the news, had listened to the tearful praise given by the Australian teacher of the unknown hero, imagining that could so easily have been Nicole had she been alive and in Sydney. She could see her doing something like that, putting her own life at risk for the sake of children, remembering how she readily volunteered her life in the room where they had been held by the Widow, not once hesitating. She wasn’t sure she would do the same under similar circumstances, although the intruder pointing a gun at her in M’s house had given her a taste for the power to defend herself.

M looked frail as she kissed her on the cheek, walking slowly towards the entrance of MI6's firing range, pausing before entering to catch her breath. “Not used to all this exercise,” she said, attempting a smile.

“We can do this another day,” Waverly offered. “I’m in no hurry.”

M patted Waverly’s arm. “I need the practise. I really should have got him first time.”

“Nicole wouldn’t tell me about that side. I saw.”

“It takes a certain type. Although, everyone is different.”

“I don’t think I could ever.”

M handed her a loaded gun. “Don’t think, shoot. If you think you’re dead.”

Waverly’s hand shook as she held a handgun for the second time. “Did you see the news?”

“Are we talking Sydney?”

“That’s who she was. That’s how I want her to be remembered. Like the Sydney Saviour. Someone like that, not a murderer.”

M remained focused on her own target, the weight of the gun pulling on weakened muscles, determined not to be defeated. Two shots fired, both missing. “The dead don’t get a say in how they are remembered. That is the job of the living.”

“I have to clear her name. I see others not want to talk to me about her, as if it’s taboo, as if she’s some evil, heartless bitch. And, I want to shake them and tell them how amazing she is, and what she’s done. And…”

“We will. Some day we will be able to say her name without fear of it being linked to that awful act. You have my word.”

Waverly’s phone rang, excusing herself from the range, her editor needing advice. “Hi, is this a bad time? Only, Eden is here with a couple of suggestions for the magazine. I just need…can you speak with her?”

“Hey, look I know this is really forward,” Eden began, “but I was buzzing after our chat. I think you could do something with powerful women. What about powerful women who are loyal to their country?”

“I like it,” Waverly replied. “Yes, I know someone who would be great, although she might say no.”

“I was thinking the Prime Minister. Loyalty to Queen and country. Strong women. Only an idea.”

“Thanks, appreciate the suggestion. Look, I…did you…if you’re not busy we could see that movie.”

“I’ve a better idea, how about I cook and we watch a movie at mine.”

“I…that’s really kind-“

“But, I’m hearing a but.”

“No, no buts. Just friends.”

“Hey, just friends.”

“I’ll let you know on the photo front. Great idea. Put me onto my editor I need to tell him.”

M was receptive to the idea, even more so when Waverly mentioned the Prime Minister, agreeing she would be photographed by Eden for the cover of the second edition of Womenly, M smiling to herself at what Nicole would have to say on that.

J remained in a bad mood with Nicole, later admitting to Xavier what she did was courageous. “You’ve got to see it from her point of view,” Xavier said, sipping a cold beer. “If you have to make a decision in the field you make it, or live with the consequences.”

“I understand. I was wrong I’ll admit. I simply want an end to this ghostly lifestyle.”

“We all do. Nicky’s finding it tough too. And, she can’t just turn up and everything be back to normal. She’s got to clear her name too, otherwise there’s no point to her coming out of hiding. She’ll just be back to square one.”

“M believes she can convince the Widow to turn on the British government.”

“Good luck with that,” Xavier said. “She’s too far in with this Joshua group. If it was me, I’d go after that Clanton mother, cut off the money.”

“I made that suggestion to M. She seems set on focusing on the Widow for now.”

“Ours is not to reason why.”

Nicole entered the lounge. “Well this sucks. Someone has come forward saying they’re the one who directed everyone away from Blankova.”

“I’d like to apologise,” J said. “I may have overreacted earlier.”

“It’s fine. You were right, I should have stayed on mission, not go chasing glory.”

“Shall we group hug?” Xavier added. “Nice big hug, get all those feelings out.”

Nicole grinned as she watched J sink into his chair at the prospect of physical contact. “And kisses,” she teased. “Must do kisses. Come here J, you’re first.”

They watched as he darted from the room, remembering to take his laptop on the way out. “So, do I need to buy you a cape? And, a little mask for your eyes.”

“Definitely. It’s just so typical I’m dead and can’t enjoy my moment, while someone else gets all the limelight.”

“I didn’t think you were into that. Thought you liked the secret life.”

Nicole sighed, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “I do. I’d trade everything to get home, not be branded the bomber. But, seeing the looks on those kids’ faces, I had to.”

“I would have done the same. You made the right call. We’ll get the bitch, clear your name, make everything right.”

“I’m not so sure. I keep feeling this is it, this is my life from now on. What if Waverly moves on?”

“She won’t. But, you have to accept whatever happens. I’m not even sure I’ll get to see my lot again. Just once I want to hold that new little boy of mine.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For doing this, for saving me.”

“You’d do the same, with a red cape on. Captain Chaos, that’s your new name.”

“Hate it. The Masked Marvel. The Hoodie Hero. No wait, the…nope, can’t think of anything.”

“The Ginger Avenger,” Xavier said, raising his beer bottle.

Nicole grinned. “So rude. I love it. So getting a cape.”

Waverly waited for Eden to open the door, her bodyguard standing a little behind, hands clasped in front. “Sorry, I’m a little late. Can my guy check out the place?”

“Hey, not late. Sure, just be careful of the bodies in the closet.” Waverly tensed, looking down. “Oh no, there aren’t any. I’m always saying stupid things when I’m nervous.”

“Me too. I usually buy when I’m stressed.”

A quick assessment of the apartment, Waverly’s bodyguard returned to the car to wait, Eden opening the bottle of wine she had chilling in the fridge, showing her guest into the lounge. They continued their discussion on the magazine, Waverly impressed with Eden’s enthusiasm, agreeing with most of her suggestions. “This venture of yours is amazing,” Eden said, getting up to clear the plates. “Charlotte said you were talented, but I never realised how much.”

“You sound like her,” Waverly replied, without thinking. “No, sorry, forgive me. You’re right, we’re each our own person.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really. Charlotte said you might be going up to Scotland in a few weeks.”

Waverly played with the stem of her glass. “I’m not sure. My sister wants me to go, consider my options there. I think she’s hoping I’ll change my mind on the whole running a castle idea.”

“I thought you were settled here, what with the magazine.”

“I am. Only, we talked about…okay, I talked about running Cassillis as a tourist attraction. It was our dream, well mine, but I think she wanted it too. Not tea cloths.”

“And, you’d give up the magazine?” Eden said, returning with dessert. “Isn’t that a little risky?”

“I could run both. Although, you’re right. I don’t know. I owe it to her.”

“What about the house in London?”

“Same. I’m not ready to move on, but I can’t face being there right now. Too many memories.”

“Don’t rush anything would be my suggestion. You’ve put so much into making a success of the magazine. If you throw it away now.”

“You’re right. Lottie was right about you, you’re good for me.”

“Look, I know this is too soon, and I wouldn’t ask, only I think you’re amazing. Why don’t you stay? As a friend.”

Waverly glanced over, returning her gaze to the dessert. Under any other circumstances she might have said yes, Eden being her type, a similar height to Nicole, equally well-toned, darker hair, an easy manner if a little pushy, which she put down to confidence. “I’m not ready,” she replied. “I’m sorry, I’d better go.”

“Waverly, please don’t. You are exceptional and I’m pushing too hard. Just tell me to back off, okay.”

“No, it’s not that. Okay, it’s that. Eden, I don’t know when I’ll be ready. It’s just, she’s still with me and it wouldn’t be fair on you.”

“I’m backing off. Completely backing off. Won’t say another word, other than you have the most amazing eyes and I’d love to photograph you some time. I could totally see you on the cover of the magazine. Strong woman vibe.”

Waverly rose. “God, I wish things were different. I wish…I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Wynonna was watching a documentary on birds as she entered the lounge. “You’re back early. How was your date?”

“Not a date,” Waverly replied, slumping next to her sister. “I miss her.”

“Any more thoughts on the castle? I’m not due back at the hospital for another week.”

“I’ve changed my mind. It’s too much for me on my own.”

“What will you do with it?”

“I don’t know. Sell it, give the money to Nicole's parents. I’m too tired to think. Eden thinks I should concentrate on the magazine.”

“Maybe, although you had your heart set on that café.”

“I know. But, it’s not the same. Not now. Not with her gone.”


	35. Bench

The Prime Minister closed the door to her residence, removing her shoes, pouring herself a large gin. She waited for Margot Clanton to answer, staring out the window of Ten Downing Street, watching as her cat killed a bird in the garden. Hearing Margot’s voice the PM was in no mood for pleasantries. “She fucked up.”

“I can withhold funds if you are not satisfied with Petra’s work,” Margot replied. “I agree she should have stayed, finished the job she was sent to do.”

“Half. Pay her half. Tell her next time I want the job done properly, otherwise she gets nothing.”

“There’s a rumour MI6 was involved.”

“Fucking hope not,” the Prime Minister snapped. “They’re tarnished after London. Such a clever move blaming one of their agents and makes my job easier getting rid of M. The guy replacing her will do as I say. Now we move forward with our plans.”

“I’ll need a few more weeks to get everything in place.”

“Are you saying you’re not ready? Are you telling me after all this fucking time, you’ve left it to the last minute?”

“No, no, I assure you it’s all in hand. It’s simply a question of getting everyone’s buy in. The Lucchese family are demanding a larger cut for their part that’s all. I don’t want to go ahead without their agreement.”

“You have one week. I was chosen to lead JOSHUA, which everyone agreed to in Rome remember. They do what I say. Everyone, even the mafia, those greedy bastards. If anyone dares change their mind tell them I will send my men. Do you hear? Do you hear?”

“I am on your side. We have worked hard to get back to where we were before Calvi was murdered. His death pushed us back many years.”

“I agree. And, you come to me now begging for extra time.”

“It’s in hand. I will sort it.”

M entered her house, turning on the lights, dropping her bag in the hall, all traces of blood removed from the walls and floor, the images of that night staining her mind forever. Even in her incapacitated state, being wheeled out on a stretcher she remembered in vivid detail the red splatters across the walls of her pristine house, a sickening sight, something she never thought possible in her own home.

Holding Waverly’s hand had been especially poignant, a daughter in her hour of need, not known for being overly sentimental, she found comfort in a stranger’s grasp, glad to have had her there in her hour of need. She had grown accustomed to dealing with life on her own, her husband dying suddenly of a suspected heart attack, not entirely convinced by the coroner’s report, knowing he had been fit and healthy until that moment. 

Throwing herself into her work, she consoled herself that life carried on, that it needed her, that it needed her dispassionate approach in dealing with those who cared little about the consequences of their own actions. When Nicole arrived it was like a breath of fresh air, someone to whom she felt a connection, someone like her who wanted to do everything to the best of their ability, with a pinch of charm and a dash of cheek.

She took Nicole under her wing, watching her progress quickly, making allowances for her occasional rogue decisions in the field, invariably on her side, there for her behind the scenes defending against those who might otherwise have removed her from active service, given her propensity to do things her own way. She hated lying to Waverly, a kind of betrayal to Nicole, seeing the hope in her eyes, knowing what she knew, fearing if she revealed the truth it might scupper plans to bring down JOSHUA. A tall order given who was involved, but a fight she needed to win, even if it was her last. 

M assumed when she first entered MI6 her life would be one of following the rules, doing what was best for the country, respecting the wishes of those in more powerful positions. Naïve in her assumptions, she quickly learned there were traitors in all manner of positions she least expected. The first time she met the latest Prime Minister she had her suspicions, overly ambitious, a little too dismissive of the work MI6 did, seeking to rein in M’s authority, something other PM’s had not sought to do. When she heard the PM was quietly seeking to change the narrative on the effectiveness of the British secret service M knew she had a problem on her hands, little realising the woman now in charge was selling out their country behind everyone's back.

Had she also known the PM had been spying on her, she might have acted differently, only realising something was amiss when Waverly became caught up in one of their missions. Like Nicole, she too could not figure out why Waverly had ended up on that island, assuming it to be linked to her father. Her suspicions were heightened when Nicole mentioned Cassillis, accusing her of feeding information to the Widow. Someone was feeding the Widow information, someone who had access to Nicole’s files, someone who would have known Nicole was on a mission to capture the Widow.

Nicole packed her belongings, ready to move on, adding a second tea cloth to her collection, not something she would normally buy, showing Sydney Harbour complete with bridge, imagining what it might look like in Waverly's café, imagining what Waverly would say at her having bought such tacky items. It didn’t matter, as long as she got to see Waverly’s face, see the delight in her eyes, hoping there was still room in her heart, hoping her Lazarus moment would not be too much of a shock to her.

They were to return to Morocco to await M’s instructions, wait for the Widow’s next move and that of JOSHUA, all three hoping their next mission would be successful, offering each a chance to go home. The thought of holding Waverly in her arms again, finally holding their engagement parties, making plans for their wedding, sorting out Cassillis were what kept her going. Without those, without the hope of returning to Waverly she might as well be dead.

M was busy at her desk when she received Eden’s call, arranging to meet her on Vauxhall Bridge to take the required photos for Waverly’s magazine. Accompanied by two of her officers she made her way to the rendezvous point, Eden already there, eager to meet her, shaking M’s hand enthusiastically, thanking her for agreeing to pose with the iconic MI6 building in the background. 

The shoot over, M viewed all the photos, complimenting Eden on her work, suggesting she join her for lunch, Eden more than happy to accompany M, recognising the chance to chat with someone as important as the Head of MI6, never one to miss an opportunity. M was charming, asking about her career, how she knew Waverly, what her ambitions were, almost as a mother would, careful not to overstep the line of friendship she had developed with Nicole’s fiancé.

“I’m hoping to work with Waverly,” Eden began, tucking into her salad. “She’s a visionary in terms of the direction she wants to take the magazine.”

“And Waverly is happy with your involvement.” M said, picking at her own lunch. “I heard she was considering stepping back.”

“I think she would have, if Nicole was still here. I’ve suggested she should focus on the magazine rather than some castle in the middle of nowhere. I can see myself running the photography department for her. It needs a strong eye to bring her ideas to life.”

“She certainly needs someone like you to support her efforts. Although, I would say she needs time to adjust given what happened.”

“Oh sure. Totally know she’s not over what happened. She needs someone to show her life moves on. Can’t date a ghost.”

M laughed. “You can’t, that is true. Although, one must be careful in our assumptions.”

Their lunch finished, Eden raced to Waverly’s office to show her the photos, eager to tell her everything, Waverly listening, agreeing the photos were outstanding, grateful for M’s contribution. Calling to thank M for her time she could sense something was playing on her mind, M suggesting a small pub overlooking the Thames, Waverly arriving early, wondering why they were meeting at that time of day, in that location.

M looked in better health as she approached, the colour having returned to her cheeks, her walking pace quicker than their last meeting. Drinks purchased, M asked how the magazine was coming along, both pleased with Eden’s work, both agreeing she was an excellent photographer. “She seems quite keen on your ideas,” M said, sipping her whiskey.

“A little too keen,” Waverly replied. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s good for me. I need someone like her to motivate me to get on with my life, not keep dwelling on the past, or what might have been.”

M looked out over the river. “She certainly seems to think highly of you.”

Waverly creased her forehead, studying M’s face for any hint of why they were there discussing Eden. “Okay. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

M continued to look out over the river. “She wants to be involved in your life.”

“And.”

“I’m simply making an observation. I believe she has feelings for you.”

“You really need to tell me what’s going on here. I'm hopeless at mind reading.”

M placed her unfinished drink on the wooden table. “Will you walk with me?”

Waverly looked around the small pub, quiet for that time of day, hardly anyone who might overhear their conversation. “M, you need to tell me.”

M’s eyes quickly scanned the space. “Walk, and I will tell you.”

Waverly was already standing, her heart racing, praying M was about to say what she hoped might be true. Outside the pub they crossed the road, M spying a bench a little way ahead, making her way towards it, Waverly keeping up, desperate for M to tell her whatever she needed to say out of earshot of anyone else.

M took a moment, gazing out at the boats moving along the river, going about their business. “This goes against my better judgment, but I feel I must say something.”

“M please, just tell me.”

M turned to face Waverly, taking her hand, patting it, letting out a sigh, gazing down at the engagement ring. “Please do not take this the wrong way, but-“

“She’s alive. She’s alive, isn’t she?”

“What I was about to say was, I would caution you take your time with Eden.”

“Why?”

M’s eyes caught Waverly’s momentarily. “I think you know why.”

The shriek Waverly let out made a passing jogger lose his rhythm, staggering to one side, glancing back over his shoulder as he carried on his way. “I knew it. I’m going to kill her when I see her. Where is she?”

“This goes no further, do you understand?”

Before she could stop herself Waverly was hugging M. “Thank you, thank you. Oh my God. Oh my God. Thank you.”

“Waverly, there are things still to be done. You must promise me you will not say anything.”

“I promise. Oh my God. I knew it. I knew she was still alive, I could feel her. When can I see her?”

M shook her head. “The circumstances surrounding her murder have yet to be resolved.”

“But, she’s alive right?”

“I…you will need to be patient and you will need to pretend as though we have never had this conversation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes, it’s clear. Thank you.”

“Everything you do from now on must not reflect what you know. If others suspect it could jeopardise the future and her life. You must act as you did before, playing your part in this. Or, face the consequences.”


	36. Bursting

Waverly composed herself as she entered her office building, holding her lips tight together, keeping her head down, avoiding everyone’s gaze, telling herself to think thoughts she hoped would make her appear sad. No sooner had she sat at her desk when her editor burst in. “Look, I know this isn’t my place and she’s your friend, but she seems to think she runs the show.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Your new photographer. She’s already upset two of our regular contributors.”

“I’ll speak to her. The shots on the bridge are pretty good though.”

“They are. She’s just…she’s not a team player. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Waverly replied, a little too quickly, her voice a little higher than usual. “I’ll sort it.”

“You look. I’ll go. Have you done something with your hair?”

“Yes, my hair. New look. Going for a new look.”

“It suits you.”

As soon as her office door closed she raced to the bathroom, staring at her reflection realising she looked far happier than she had since hearing the news about Nicole. “Get a grip, get a grip. You’ll give the game away,” she counselled herself. “More miserable. Way more miserable.”

The new sparkle in her eyes was hard to ignore, wondering how Nicole could do her job, pretend to be whoever she needed to be without giving away who she really was. It was down to her to keep quiet, keep up the pretend story her fiancé was dead, except the news of Nicole being alive was the best news ever, the constant ache in her chest gone, every ounce of heaviness in her heart lifted, every one of her prayers answered. M would not reveal where Nicole was, nor when she might return, saying only it would take time, advising her to be patient, that a day would come when they could be together again. 

Nicole gazed out over Sydney as their plane took off, unaware of the growing interest in identifying her. Had she simply kept her mouth shut, much of the media would have moved on. J was right, she had one job and she blew it. Not in saving the kids, but in remaining under the radar. 

Playing dead was to her advantage, except there was a feeding frenzy to find her. A simple slip in the heat the moment, something she would never do, having felt immune now that she no longer existed, a mistake, a genuine mistake that was all, never once factoring in there might be dire consequences.

Xavier was stretched out on several seats, already snoring loudly, J busy on his laptop. “We’ll get home,” Nicole said, to an audience of one, J continuing to type. “I’m done with this life.”

J stopped typing. “You are one of the best operatives MI6 has.”

“Had.”

“Has. M will clear your name.”

“The damage has been done.”

“I beg to differ. The inquiry into what happened in London will prove your innocence. No one in their right mind will be able to say you alone coordinated and carried out the attacks on our transport system.”

Nicole sighed, looking out over the ocean. “You’re thinking like an insider. The rest of the world has only a vague idea of what we do. We’re ghosts, literally. Well, in our case actually. They soak up what’s in the news like vinegar over fries.”

“Chips. Please use the correct terminology for potatoes deep fried in oil.”

“I’m simply yesterday’s news, wrapped around deep fried potatoes. No one cares if I did, or didn’t bomb the heart out of London. All they care about is whether their chips are tasty. I’m well and truly-”

J's forehead creased. “I have absolutely no idea what the point is to this conversation we are having. And please do not say it is a Times crossword clue.”

“Five across,” Nicole replied. “Rhymes with tucked.”

M knew she had taken a huge gamble in telling Waverly, but she could not sit back and watch the love of Nicole’s life be stolen from her, even if it meant going against her own modus operandi of dispassionate reasoning. She too wanted an end to this, to get Nicole back, to give Nicole back her life, to let her go have a life with Waverly. All seemed so far away at that moment, knowing the Prime Minister was out to get rid of her, determined to reduce MI6 to a sniveling pet, ready to do her bidding for her own selfish agenda.

Initially she thought to retaliate against the accusation of Nicole’s involvement in the bombings, come out all guns blazing, kick up a big stink, shout from the rafters this was the work of rogue terrorists for a secret organisation, out to undermine MI6 and all it did quietly to protect lives. Lying in her hospital bed, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation, she came to the conclusion her voice would be drowned out, her denials refuted, her career over.

She too needed to operate under the radar, piecing together her own plan to finish what she chose to start. It had been her decision to focus resources on the Black Widow. It had been her decision to pursue, to neutralise the threat she posed. In her heart M believed she could reach her, bring her back from the edge of evil, from a life she was positive the Widow did not want. 

Was killing the Widow’s new lover necessary? She knew she could have wounded the blue-eyed beauty, brought them both in, tilting her gun just a fraction for the impact to be fatal. In that moment, in the moment of deciding between life and death, she chose to shoot for the kill, take out her supposed adversary. 

Was she compromised? Yes. Should she have been on that mission? No. Did she regret what she had done? No, then again yes, the consequences of her actions now playing out in ugly fashion.

Consequences. All coming back to haunt M, with two operatives having to play dead, and one who volunteered to go missing in action to protect them. Now she faced a bigger problem, a more powerful enemy, more cunning, more ruthless. Those who she would have turned to for support in the past were turning on her. A series of consequences even she had not foreseen when she decided to fall in love with a woman. 

Waverly called her assistant in. “I’m taking a few days off. If you need me I’ll be in Chalfield.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, why?”

“Only.”

“I know, new hairstyle.”

“No. Only you seem. I’ll forward your mail and calls. Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

Waverly thought for a moment, her mind turning to Nicole, a smile forming. “I've sent you an email with instructions.”

Her assistant smiled. “I’m glad. This is the happiest I’ve seen you in a while. Whoever they are.”

Waverly took a moment to process her assistant’s comment. “No. It’s…I’m not. Oh, yes, early days.”

“She’s nice.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Eden. She’s…”

“Right. Sorry. Look, if anyone comes asking after me, tell them I’ve gone to Cassillis.”

She needed space, needed to get away, needed to not have everyone looking at her trying to guess why she suddenly looked different. There was one task left to do before departing, calling Eden. “Hi, can we meet?” 

“Hey, sure. I have one more photo shoot then I’m done. Shall I come to the office?”

“A bar,” Waverly suggested. “I’ll text the details.”

Eden bounced in, spotting Waverly in one of the side booths. “Wow, what’s happened to you?” she said, sitting beside her. “Can’t be because of me.”

“Kind of,” Waverly began. “Look, I’ve been thinking, about what I want. I love the magazine, your work lifts it, but my heart is somewhere else.”

Eden rolled her eyes. “Scotland. Are you sure?”

“I have to give it a go. I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

“What about here?”

“I can still manage some of the work remotely.”

“But, you’ll be there.”

Waverly gazed at Eden. “I know you want more. I know you think I’m throwing away what could be, but I need to do this.”

“What if I come with you? See how things go. I won’t take up that much room in your suitcase.”

Waverly reached out with her hand, taking Eden’s. “I’m not over Nicole. I don’t know when, or if, but it’s not fair to keep you dangling when my heart isn’t free.”

Eden stroked Waverly’s fingers. “Okay, okay, I know I’m pushing, but I want you to have a life, not spend years pining for what could have been. I’ll go.”

“No, no. God, this is hard. I want you in my life, I definitely want you to be part of the magazine’s team, although my editor is a little prickly right now. I could do with a friend if you want that.”

Eden moved nearer. “You’re right, I do want more. You’re too beautiful to waste your life hidden away.”

Waverly pulled back her hand. “Eden, don’t put me on a pedestal. I’m offering you a job at the magazine and my friendship. That’s all I have to give you.”

“Sleep with me once and I’ll accept both.”

Waverly gasped, a wide grin forming. “You are too much. The offers are there, take them or leave them. God, I wish you had met her, she would have loved you.”

Eden winked. “Okay, so this job you’re offering, what does it entail?”

M was on her way home when she got the call. “Looks like one of yours is the hero,” the Head of Australia’s secret service began. “Didn’t know you were here.” 

“Roger, you and I both know MI6 are not on the ground in Sydney.”

“Only, there’s a story circulating about the city’s saviour. Whoever saved our kids kept shouting they were one of yours.”

“I can assure you, none of our operatives were anywhere near that school.”

“Thought it odd someone shouting in the middle of a siege,” Roger replied. “Don’t get me wrong, if it was one of you guys I’m grateful.”

“Thank you. But, we cannot take credit on this occasion. I am assuming it’s a case of mistaken identity.”

“I’ll take your word. Our media is loving the whole Sydney Saviour thing. Gives it a positive spin, takes the heat off of us as well. Could have been far worse had they not done what they did. I’ll send you the clip, in case your press start bleating.”

M watched the video clip taken on a bystander’s phone shortly after the blast, close enough to see the back of someone arriving on a scooter, vault the side gate and begin shouting for those in danger to follow. The voice was clearly female and clearly Nicole’s. 

With the video circulating to all the major news channels, witnesses were coming forward to say they had seen someone fitting Nicole’s description riding away from the scene. Several mentioned a second person with her, heading in the direction of Darling Point, caught on multiple street cameras as they approached the Widow’s residence. It didn’t take long for the clip to reach the British Prime Minister, furious at having been outplayed by M. 

She called the Widow. “It seems you had company in Sydney.”

“Petra is not happy with her revised payment. Nor am I.”

“Next time make sure the assignment is carried out to satisfaction. Our dead friend stole your glory. I suggest you take it up with her.”

“You told me she had been dealt with. She’s alive?”

“It would appear so. If she dares step foot back here I will end her once and for all.”

“You didn’t do your job last time,” the Widow teased. “Perhaps you need a financial punishment too.”

“I will make inquiries as to her whereabouts. You need to continue with the plan. Ms Cox will meet you in Toronto.”


	37. Bait

M knew they would need to move faster after London, recognising her time at MI6 was running out. If she was forced to resign it would most likely mean Nicole’s name never being cleared, conveniently buried under bureaucracy. It would also mean JOSHUA had won, that the Widow would remain at large and the British Prime Minister free to do as she pleased, feathering her own nest for a criminal career post politics, cavorting with those she should have been protecting her country against. The general public would be none the wiser, naively assuming someone in power had their best interests at heart, not their own pockets.

“We have another problem,” M said, staring at her computer screen, three faces staring back. “Sydney. OOH you’re too hot for this next mission. I need you to stay where you are.”

“What do you mean too hot?”

“There’s footage. I can easily recognise you. And, if I can others will too.”

“What footage?”

“It’s all over the news,” M replied. “My worry is you’ll be linked to the Sydney incident, not as the saviour but as a terrorist, further damaging our reputation.”

“Who’s protecting Waverly?” Nicole said, suddenly realising if the Widow found out she was still alive she might put several twos together and use her as bait.

“Her bodyguards.”

Nicole gripped the edge of the bench. “Thugs got into your house.”

“I promise I’ll protect her. Stay hidden until we have Margot.”

“At least let me help bring Margot in.”

“I cannot risk it. If you’re caught I may not be able to get you out again.”

Nicole stormed out, leaving J and Xavier to be briefed on the next assignment, agreeing it was their best option. An hour later Xavier found Nicole still in her tent. “Knock, knock,” he said, poking his head through. “Need company.”

“I’m being punished.”

“M’s right. You need to stay here, let us go do our job.”

“And, then what? I sit in a fucking oversized sand pit waiting.”

“This oversized sand pit has kept you alive.”

Nicole huffed. “What would you do? If you were me.”

Xavier winked. “If I thought Jules might be in danger nothing would get in my way.”

“I’ve got to go to her, even if I’m caught, even if you’re not there this time.”

“Then go.”

Nicole glanced up at Xavier. “Even if it’s completely crazy, and might actually get me killed.”

Xavier nodded. “You know I asked to be assigned to you. Want to know why?”

“Because I’m crazy.”

“Yep. Because, no matter what happens you never give up. Seen it too many times in the field. Guy gets so far, thinks the odds are against him and backs off.”

“I’m not a guy.”

“You’re OOH. What would she do in a situation like this?”

“Steal a vehicle, head to the nearest airport, get the hell home.”

Xavier dangled a set of keys before her. “Siphoned enough petrol to get you to the airport. Map’s on the passenger seat, wallet's underneath.”

“I have a tracker.”

Xavier laughed. “The sand is doing things to your brain. It's disabled. Can’t be dead and beeping your location."

Nicole took the keys, hugging Xavier. “I won’t forget this.”

“The helicopter will be here soon. Suggest you give us a head start then go before it gets dark.”

Grabbing a rucksack, stuffing a few items in it, remembering the tea cloths, she hugged her friend again. “So, how do I make this work?”

“J’s asked the camp owner and his son to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get any ideas about leaving. Shouldn’t be too difficult to slip away if they’re distracted.”

“And, how do I do that?”

Xavier handed her his water bottle and a lighter. “With these.”

Nicole watched as Xavier left her tent, opening the canister, sniffing its contents, a smile forming. She heard the sound of the helicopter taking off, waiting as Xavier suggested, crawling underneath the canvas, heading to the dining tent without being seen. Peering inside the kitchen area was empty, dousing the side of the tent with petrol, retrieving Xavier’s lighter. Her eye caught the design, realising while she had been buying tea cloths, he had been figuring out an escape route, either for himself, or as it now transpired hers. 

She watched as the lighter charred the white canvas, willing it to catch, the smell of petrol hitting her nostrils. A sudden whoosh and the whole side of the tent caught fire, enough to be noticeable, enough to buy her enough time to leave the camp unnoticed. She drove as if her life depended on it, and Waverly’s reaching Merzouga, fake passport in her bag, a flight booked to Marrakesh then London. Sitting in the airport lounge, as she had on so many other occasions, she simply wanted it to end, to not have to fight any more for her love, to be able to live her life with the prospect of growing old with Waverly, wherever that might be, if that might be.

 _What if she’s moved on,_ she thought, as the plane left the ground. _What if I’m too late. It’s only been a few weeks, okay a little over a month, she couldn’t have forgotten me that quickly. But, all this, all she’s been through, my death, being labelled the bomber, that’s too much. Her words in the hospital, wanting me to let her go. It’s okay. It’s okay. What will be will be. If she would let me hold her one more time, hear me say I love her one more time, let her know there will never be anyone else, even if I’m not the one. That would be enough._

As soon as Waverly relayed her plans to Wynonna she offered to accompany her to Chalfield. “We can go to Scotland too if you like. I’m dying to see this castle of yours.”

“We will, eventually. I just need…I need somewhere to clear my head.”

“Did you want to invite Nicole’s mother over? Would be nice to see her again. I think ours wants to keep in touch.”

Waverly rubbed her sister’s arm. “Another time. I just want a few days without having to think about…not think about everything. Plus, we’ve not had much time together.”

“And, two very fit bodyguards. Don’t forget them. They can protect me any day, preferably without their suits on.”

“Wyn! Do you think father will let me go without them?”

Wynonna shook her head. “He’d kill me if anything happened to you. I’ll speak to him, see if he’ll let his favourite out to play with her older sister.”

“I really don’t know how I…thank you.”

“For what?”

“For you. And Doc.”

“We’ll get through this. Perhaps don’t mention to John I have a thing for your muscle men.”

Waverly would normally have been reduced to tears by her sister’s unwavering support, grateful to have her since the news of Nicole. “I won’t. Your secret is safe with me,” she replied, heading to the door of Wynonna’s bedroom. “Thank you, this means a lot.”

Their father refused without discussion to let Waverly travel minus her men, the sisters resigned to sharing a car with them, Wynonna flirting with the younger of the two the entire journey, much to Waverly’s embarrassment. Their mother was overjoyed to see them, making a fuss, insisting they invite Nicole’s mother to lunch the next day, Waverly unable to change her mind either. Part of her was now wondering whether it might have been easier to go to Cassillis, hoping to keep her own secret safe from both mothers and her sister.

Wynonna was unpacking her things, Waverly sitting on the bed staring at her ring. “You definitely seem to have perked up in the last day, or so.”

“Oh, you know. Life moves on.”

Wynonna stopped what she was doing. “So soon. No, sorry, you’re right. Don’t listen to me. This is right for you. You certainly look more relaxed.”

Waverly let out a long sigh. “I’m trying not to look relaxed, or happy, or different. I don’t want everyone commenting, that’s why I wanted to come here.”

“You’re too honest for that little sis. You wear your emotions on your face.”

Waverly let out another long sigh, her hands patting her knees. “This is hopeless. Wyn, can I tell you something?”

“Shall we book a spa day? I so need to be pampered. Could ask mother to join us.”

“I can’t keep this to myself.”

“Did you pack a bikini? I’ve got two, I think. Or, we could buy new ones. A shopping day in Bath, that’s what we need.”

Waverly went to the window, looking down over the garden. “She’s alive.”

“And, lunch. I feel the need for some serious…sorry, what?”

“Wyn, she’s alive.”

“Oh Waves, I know she is. She always will be. She’ll always be with us. She would want this, you moving on with your life.”

“No, she’s really alive. As in.”

Wynonna came and stood beside her sister, gazing at the same view. “Baby girl, you can’t live like this. You need to move on.”

“Wynonna, I’m telling you she’s alive,” Waverly whispered, looking over her shoulder for fear of being overheard.

“But…but, we…in the church,” Wynonna replied, also looking over her shoulder. “In the ground…and her parents. Everything in the news.”

“I was sworn to secrecy. She’s not dead. Wyn, she’s not dead.”

“How? How do you know?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to believe me. And, you can’t tell anyone. Not even John. Or, parents. And, definitely not Nicole’s mother.”

“Is this why we’re here?”

“No. Maybe. Okay, yes. Everyone’s picking up my happier vibe which apparently I’m lousy at hiding.”

Wynonna rotated her sister’s body to face her, her own hands on Waverly’s upper arms. “Look me in the eye and swear this isn’t some kind of denial you’re going through. Or, one of the stages of grief. She’s actually alive. Breathing alive.”

Waverly’s face gave away everything, Wynonna hugging her sister. “Thank fuck for that. I’m seriously going to kill her when I see her. I bought a new outfit for her funeral too. That girl owes me.”

“Help me hide this. Oh God, what do we do about Nicole’s mother?”

“Leave this to me,” Wynonna replied. “Operation weepy Waverly is go.”


End file.
